


For Luck

by Shatterpath



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Happy Ending, Mildly Cracky, Mobsters, Multi, Period Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:33:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5188844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterpath/pseuds/Shatterpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knew not to get to close to the 4th Street Gang, for that would be putting yourself in the crosshairs of the Stark <i>familia</i> as well. Unfortunately, Angie Martinelli has to try and save her idiot cousin by doing just that. Their enigmatic and dangerous Boss, Peggy Carter, has ruthlessly carved out a place for herself at the fringes of the Mob, in defiance of the odds stacked against her. With loyal guard dog, Steve Rogers, at her back and a ruthless gang of riff raff from all walks of life, they offer an unexpected haven for Angie, stuck in an ordinary life where she doesn't feel she belongs. After throwing sparks with the Boss, Angie finds herself with a gig at The Stork Club, the bright lights and glamour not quite hiding the underlying threat of violence constantly simmering just below the surface. It's what the lovely Songbird was made for and Peggy finds herself unexpectedly captivated. Angie finds a home at The Stork while the Boss woos her and things are looking to go their way…</p><p>Until inevitably things go horribly wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Disclaimer: "Agent Carter," Marvel Cinematic Universe, the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Marvel Studios, Marvel Television, and ABC Studios. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Agent Carter," Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Studios, ABC, or any representatives of the actors.  
> Warnings: Violence. Mentions of sexual predatory behavior.  
> Email: shatterpath@shatterstorm.net  
> Date Written: begun 7-17-15, first draft completed 9-25. I was fiddling with this right up until posting.  
> Word Count: First draft 32,245. Final draft, above. I'm not known for small stories. :)  
> Feedback: Constructive criticism is always welcome.  
> Dedication: To RainbowRiddler, cblgblog and ayrki, my beloved Stegginelli shipmates.
> 
> Author's Notes: There is period violence in this story and plenty of physical intimidation. The setting is 1935 New York and later, Los Angeles.
> 
> I have been sitting on this story for months, tweaking it to death until it's as near perfect as it can be. I'm so excited to be finally sharing it! This whole thing was begun on a bit of a whim, and I have never so much as seen a gangster movie in my life. Thankfully, I could lean on some well-known standards and a lot of research. My shipmates and I were curious what sort of villain Peggy would make, agreeing that as smart and hard-hitting as she is, that's a terrifying thought.
> 
> Inspirational quote: "I make a comment about pinstripe suits and cigars and look what happens."

I tremble  
They're gonna eat me alive  
If I stumble  
They're gonna eat me alive  
Can you hear my heart  
Beating like a hammer  
-"Help I'm Alive" by Metric

  
[](http://ariestess.tumblr.com/post/132985728125/front-and-dual-back-covers-for-the-fanmix-created)  
Click the picture to get the full playlist.

 

Angie hadn't been to 4th Street in years.

Frankly, she barely recognized the place.

The stoops where kids once played lay silent or haunted by dangerous street hoods. Rough laughter echoed faintly through heavy shutters and suspicious eyes peeked through tiny gaps in curtains that were quickly drawn shut once more.

No, not much like the old neighborhood she remembered at all.

Just being there was a horrible idea and she knew it, but what could she do? Even if Vito weren't a certifiable idiot, he was family. Jail wouldn't let him see the light of day and the deal had seemed like a good idea at the time…

The only way she even recognized the old Stan Steen Rowhouse was that strange brick fixture near the curb that someone had returned to what assumedly was its original purpose of a planter. The trees along the street were oddly healthy, if not overgrown, softening the edge of corruption and desperation that clung to every shadow.

"Whadda ya want, Dollface?" a voice drawled from her left and downward, making Angie fight the urge to jump like a startled cat. Never let them see you sweat; first rule of the stage. Drawing back her shoulders and raising her chin, Angie was the very image of haughty arrogance.

Ignoring the punk, she rapped smartly at the scarred door, hearing a second mean chuckle from below and another male voice from the window to her right.

"Whadda ya want?"

"I have business with the boss. Dum-Dum sent for me."

The idiotic sounding name was the only piece of truly valuable information Vito had kept away from the police, desperately passing on to her as the flatfoots dragged him off to the hospital to get stitched up. As the heavy door in front of her rattled with locks disengaging, she had at least that bit of insider's information. 

"Upstairs ta the left. Hop to it, girlie," growled the mountain of muscle there and Angie swallowed down terror as the door swung shut behind her with a displacement of air and a thump that spoke of doom.

Oh god, she couldn't do this! 

Frozen for a moment, she shook and fought down a whimper. This was too much for her, walking into the lion's den like a sacrificial lamb. Yet, she'd known since she was just a little rugrat that a fate like this would one day await her. She just had to hit on all sixes, convince these Mafia legbreakers to spare both her and Vito, then get out in mostly one piece. Her streets had always been mean and the Martinellis raised their brood tough and scrappy. 

She could do this. 

Drawing herself up, Angie ascended the grand old stairs like visiting royalty and headed for the door that creaked ominously open. The big black fella there stepped aside like a fancy concierge and she took in the elegantly furnished room in a quick glance.

Raucous laughter rang out and Angie noted a table of men and women that looked to be playing poker, tobacco and a trace of spliff creating a haze in the air. So far, this was no different than her Pop and his friends on any given night. All that was missing was the smell of pizza and cannellinis and the sight of the scarred dartboards she loved.

Okay, she could do this. Just like hangin' out with Pops and girlishly flirting with the fathers and sons and uncles galore. Stay chill Angie…

"Duty calls," said a voice belonging to a big Irishman with the most ridiculous mustache Angie had ever seen. He was a looker if not for that silly brush, but his easy grin never reached his gaze as he watched her take in the overgrown handlebar. Those pale, pale blue eyes were the eyes of a predator and Angie well knew not to be fooled by his jovial appearance.

His low chuckle was pure sex and terror. "C'mon then, you'll wanna see the boss."

There was more? This well-dressed man who commanded the room wasn't the end of the line? If she got out of this in one piece, she might kill Vito herself.

Whereas the main parlor had been keyed for a guest's comfort, the hall she was herded into was pure intimidation. Closed doors and dark paint coupled with low, smoky yellow light and no windows kept away any hint of the outside world. Beyond the walls, there was the murmur of voices at business and-- by that low moan-- pleasure as well. A very effectively dressed set; Angie could almost admire it if not for the raw menace that hung like cigarette smoke at the edges of her senses.

The big Irishman at her heels gave Angie little choice but to keep moving to the only open door in the hall. The room was eye-blindingly dark save a single pool of light like a copper's interrogation room, a past experience she had no desire to repeat. A flicker of movement drew her eyes, the faint light gleaming off of short-cropped pale hair, and the broad line of shoulder that let Angie knew the danger level had been upped. The Irishman she understood, he was a club, a scarred fist, a booted foot. His sort were a dime a dozen on these streets where only the smartest and toughest survived. But that shadowy man made her think of the sewer rats and the mean alley cats, sleek and fast and deadly. This was no club, this was a blade between the ribs before you could scream for help.

"Present for ya, Boss."

She never saw the other guy move, he was simply in the shadows one moment and looming over her the next. For all her bravado and street smarts and people skills, Angie squeaked in fright and flinched back to collide with the Irishman who laughed his dark, sexy laugh.

Once, years ago when things hadn't been so bad, Angie had gotten to visit the zoo to see all the exotic animals. There'd been the lions and apes and brightly colored birds, but she was suddenly and vividly reminded of the cougar pacing his cage. Sleek and restless and the color of dried grass, it moved like it was near boneless, not a twitch wasted from nose to tail. Every soft human that walked by was a morsel and white teeth flashed around the violently frustrated growling. Little Angie was fascinated and so very glad for the sturdy wrought iron bars.

She felt just that way again… except that this time there were no bars.

The blinding swath of light to her left and just behind her was almost a relief, painting the looming threat gorgeous and blue-eyed like summer skies and boy-next-door handsome. His ice-cold gaze snapped over to the light and the heavy, deliberate click of what Angie would swear were a woman's pumps.

There was a flash of a red-lipped smile as the light faded, and Angie was convinced she was simply losing her mind. Blondie stepped away as the click of those heels approached, revealed at the edge of the spotlight to be blood red, pointed-toe Mary Janes with enough heel to not garner attention and sturdy enough that Angie dazedly wondered if she was a dancer. 

As the woman stepped closer, she was revealed to be clad in straight-legged pinstripe pants that flowed over womanly hips and a snowy white shirt. A crimson tie was tucked away between the shirt buttons that marched over a curvaceous bust that could knock traffic to the curb. She had the sort of movie star figure that made Angie half jealous and half want to moan, 'thank you ma'am, may I have another?'

But the only thing Angie could focus on were the pinkish-red stains ominous at the edges of the cuffs-- watery where the woman wiped her freshly washed hands on a towel-- and the spatter of scarlet droplets over the otherwise pristine shirt.

Oh god… what the absolute hell had she gotten herself into?

There was the glitter of shadowed eyes above that sinfully red-lipped mouth that seemed to endlessly smirk with the absolute certainty that she knew so many things that you never would. Angie half expected to feel poisoned fangs in her flesh.

"Did Dernier take care of that little problem in Queens?"

Her voice was low and calm and bizarrely enough, heavily accented like some sorta royal from across the pond. It was so unexpected that some of the choking fear let up and Angie started paying attention again.

"Yes ma'am. The shipment will be here in under an hour," said the Irishman and the woman tossed her towel at him, narrowly missing Angie's shoulder.

"Good. Get someone to clean up that mess. No rush; he's not going anywhere."

Murmuring affirmatives, the men melted away, Big Blonde back to his shadowy corner and the Irishman out the door with the towel. The Englishwoman, and her huge presence that choked the room, moved away and a chair creaked before a desk lamp clicked on. She was a real looker, with strikingly sharp features and a strong jaw that suited her cool arrogance.

"Well, go on then. The spotlight isn't there for aesthetics."

At the edge of said pool of light, Angie was flummoxed. 

She'd better start talkin' and see if, for the umpteenth time, her mouth could get her out of trouble.

"My cousin…"

The protest was absolutely, kittenishly weak, and Angie would burn with humiliation over that at some later date. When she wasn't so scared. 

How did she play this out? Men, she understood and had a bag of tricks that might have gotten her past a Big Cheese-- and the some half dozen tough guys-- between her and the rough streets. But this strange woman was something so foreign and powerful, leaving Angie lost.

"You aren't one of Fry's girls."

She never had a chance to do more than sharply inhale before Big Blonde was on her, bodily hauling her off her feet and slamming the side of her head to the heavy desk, hands trapped in the small of her back.

"I highly recommend you begin explaining," the Englishwoman purred. Pinned by a heavy fist and an iron-hard body, all Angie could do was panic past the dizziness and terror.

"No! I came here because of my cousin! He got in trouble with the Starks! I… I…"

"Let up, Steven."

Reluctantly, the human guard dog eased off, but was a hot, deadly presence at her back.

"You have business then. Talk."

It wasn't a request.

"My cousin, Vito Bonsera," she hedged, warily straightening up and trying to ignore the ache in cheek and scalp. "There was a bar fight over at Saul's Place an' someone got killed…"

"Ah yes, that."

Abruptly, the Irishman was in the doorway, bristling with menace that was instantly halted with a raised hand from the Boss.

"Mistaken identity. Tighten up, Timothy."

His voice was subdued when he replied quietly, "Yes ma'am."

Somehow Angie was comforted that he was afraid too, even as the door clicked shut in his wake.

"Saul's Place," the boss mused conversationally into the menace of the room. "That was unfortunate business. I know of this Vito and my boys claim he was the instigator."

"No, no he was runnin' late and there was this truck that winged 'im and he was stumblin' and this goon got his arm jostled and there was no goin' back," she babbled on, desperate now to save herself. "The idiot's in the hospital an' the cops grabbed me and…"

It was the wrong thing to say, and the woman was up and around the desk as quick as her guard dog, trapping Angie between their bulks. Cringing, Angie had her hands up, expecting to be struck. Some dispassionate part of her mind marveled at the stupidity of huddling against the man who'd already hurt her, but frankly, he was less scary than this enigmatic woman. 

There was no blow, but red-tipped nails grasped Angie's chin, forcing her head up to meet burning dark eyes.

"I recognize your features. You're part of the Martinelli clan. Startling how much you've grown to look like your mother. Angela was it?"

Wide-eyed, Angie stopped struggling, knowing she was caught. This mobster knew her family and it left her belly cold and tight. She was so distraught that it took a moment to realize that lacquered thumbnail was trailing over the curve of her lower lip.

"Yes, the little actress with the silvery voice. I remember you now. Oh, don't fret, Songbird, I can make use of you."

Hypnotized by the cadence and the low burr of voice, Angie's head was tilted back further by that strong, slender hand, her whole body pressed along the tall man behind her. Swallowing hard brought attention to her exposed throat, sharp nails teasing the thin skin over her windpipe. 

"What did the police tell you?"

Caught up in the danger and dizzyingly unexpected seduction of the moment, Angie took a moment to regain her bearings. The truth might get Vito dead, but lying would almost assure her corpse being found in the Hudson somewhere. The dilemma was agonizing.

The tightening of those sharp nails on her skin brought Angie's attention back to the matter at hand.

"Tell you what, Angel. I'll tell my boys to leave off your cousin, how is that?" The lightly teasing tone in that smoothly accented voice was soothing and Angie felt the rush of relief followed by a new surge of terror. There were no free rides here. Better to squeal and live another day.

"There's a swap being set up over on 6th and Jackson. Something about a gun shipment. That's what Detective Thompson told me to say. It'll come in about three pm. But I heard one of his boys mutter something about 'they'll never get set up by lunch.'"

That slow, triumphant smile was enticing sin painted in waxy red.

"Good girl," the Boss crooned and lightly tickled at the underside of Angie's chin almost affectionately. "I would almost suspect a double-cross, if I thought Jack Thompson had enough smarts to come up with a plan not transparent enough that a child could suss him out." The rasp of nails running down either side of Angie's throat, no matter the gentleness of the touch, was a definite threat.

She couldn't look away from those night-dark eyes and the arrogant smile.

The sharp-edged pads of fingers and thumb traced lower, tickling at the hollow of Angie's throat until she swallowed hard, and then moved on to trace the sweep of exposed clavicles.

"Shame you're not one of Fry's."

Every muscle was rigid, fists clenched with the effort of not bolting. There was no doubt that Angie would never even get out of the arm's reach of the wall of menace at her back, no matter how much her brain screamed at her to run. 

The way this woman touched… it confused parts of Angie she'd spent years doing her best to hide out of self-preservation. Once, the damnation of priests for 'unnatural lusts' would have made her cower and pray, but that was a version of her long since outgrown. Inexperienced she might be, but Angie knew lust when she saw it, felt it against her skin. It didn't hurt that she too felt the tug of attraction to the mysterious looker, no matter how dangerous she clearly was.

'Time to dig deep, Angie,' she thought to herself. 'You can charm your way out of this.'

Heartened by the little pep talk, she leaned away from the too-hot wall of muscle crowding her and pressed a shoulder into the Boss' hand, schooling her features into something open and flirty. "Thank you, ma'am. Vito's an idiot, but he's family." Her voice faltered at the insanity of so blatantly offering herself up to this complete stranger-- who just happened to be a crime lord-- but she dug deep into acting skills honed as a necessity of survival. "Is there anything I can do to thank you?"

For a moment, the mysterious Englishwoman watched her quietly, curvaceous chassis still as a statue except for that wandering hand, slinking up Angie's shoulder and neck, the crimson talons tucking against the base of her head, thumb pinning the hinge of her jaw. Leaning in, she caught the light, revealing those intense eyes to be a rich, earthy brown to complete her beautiful face. With effort-- assisted by the sheer attractiveness of this deadly stranger-- Angie stayed put, not retreating those scant inches back into the stone-still bodyguard.

Closer the mob boss leaned, and closer still, breath warm and tasting of whiskey and good cigars; those big, depthless eyes filling Angie's vision and that generous rack brushing her own tits. The touch made Angie stutter out a startled breath, and the mobster grinned slow and predatory. For a moment, no one moved and the room was dead silent except for Angie's quick, shallow breathing. Then those crimson lips brushed hers as fleeting and gentle as a butterfly before leaning away.

Angie almost followed.

"Don't try so hard, Kitten. You've your own charms."

With startling gentleness this time, Angie was once more pressed into the man behind her and the boss regarded her closely for a moment.

"Thursday. The Stork Club. You will come sing for me and some friends. Don't worry about clothing, I'll have something for you."

It wasn't a request and Angie forced herself to nod minutely. Satisfied, the Boss finally released her and strode back to the desk, talking to the room at large.

"Tell Thompson," the pure disdain was almost amusing, "that you did exactly what he wanted. His little ambush will be a miserable failure and no one even need get killed, so bravo for that. That said, Steven, darling, if you'd sell our roughing up the little songbird?"

Big Blonde made an affirming noise and one meathook was suddenly like steel on Angie's arm, gripping bruisingly hard into the muscle and bone there. Shocked and fearful again, she stared up at him, willing him for mercy and blanching at the flat, businesslike cruelty in those pretty, pretty eyes. When he swooped down to kiss her hard enough to hurt, she was too shocked to do more than gasp. In a flood of copper and reactive saliva, he ravaged her mouth, yanked her hair in a fist until it stung and then abruptly let up before marching her to the door.

"Good boy," the boss purred like a big cat. "Do make sure she gets home safely. And pass on my orders on regarding Thompson and the cousin."

"Yes ma'am," he rumbled and quietly closed the door behind him to march Angie to the main parlor as though she was little more trouble than those yappy little dogs rich dames carried around. She half dangled there, up on her toes, as Big Blonde spoke to the Irishman, and tongued the raw spots where his roughness had scored her skin with both of their teeth. As deadly encounters went, this one might have almost been fun if she'd had the script ahead of time. That bombshell in the other room sure as hell had the actress' attention! Been awhile since a dame had crashed into her life quite so spectacularly. Oh hell, when had any dame done it in such a stunning fashion?

Growing up in a big family had long taught Angie the value of when to be seen. It shouldn't have amused her as much as it did when the men suddenly remembered her, looking down with faint surprise. As she was still dangling from her arm in Steven's fist, it really was sort of funny. "Heya fellas, don't mind me. Just hangin' out."

Mama always did say she rarely knew when to keep her cakehole shut. Built and scary seemed nonplussed at the sass, but the Irishman burst out into a laugh as outrageous as his pet mustache. In for a penny and all that shit, Angie thought to herself and smiled cheekily at Steven. It was almost sorta sweet how he blinked and his face lost some of its coldness, the bruising fist loosening until she could stand on her own.

"And tell the guys Vito Bonasera is off limits. Peggy's orders."

A name at last. It gave Angie a thrill she tried not to look too closely at.

It took a few minutes of waiting--during which she actually kept her mouth shut-- before Angie was collected by a nervous starched suit who eyed the mark on her lip and her wrecked hair and swallowed hard. It was a very clear preview of how the next couple days were going to go and she knew it. Crap.

The suit opened the door of a fancy set of wheels to let her in and did the same in reverse around the corner from Saul's where all the trouble had started. That was fine with Angie, because the less know-how of what she'd been up to, the better. Not that she would be able to hide the truth of it… especially past Thursday.

Stopping mid-stride, Angie was seized with memories of her encounter with the 4th Street Mob Boss, the mysterious Peggy. Part of her wanted to tell the whole thing to her Pops, maybe buy a few minutes of his time, but Charlie Martinelli seemed unaware he even had a daughter half the time. It never felt right to her to be ignored until she was useful, but there was the truth of it. If anyone had paid close enough attention, her reaching for the bright lights of Broadway or even Hollywood was no shock at all. 

So, it was back to the safety of the lies she built her skills on then. She could do that. Stories to explain her busted lip and her disheveled Sunday best ran though her head as she reached up to pull loose her ruined hair, hissing as the heel of her hand brushed against the side of her head. 

Oh yeah, that. 

Mama would be all over her if she showed up lookin' like, well, some guy had roughed her up. Reversing direction, she headed for a different destination, figuring Vito's family would cover for her, seein' as she'd bought him a ticket for not gettin' killed by the 4th Street Gang.

When her Aunt Sara opened the door, Angie bluntly explained herself before the old chatterbox could utter a word. Tight-lipped, she nodded and brought her niece in to clean up, habitually scanning the street for trouble. It had always been like this, the fog of fear and anticipation that flowed through every street and home. Angie had already lost two brothers to the violence of the streets and another who had pulled up stakes and left to go west, never to be heard from again. Looking into the mirror of Aunt Sara's makeup table, surrounded by paints and powder, Angie suddenly realized that she was becoming them, her aunts and older girl cousins and her hard-mouthed mother. 

Right down to the split lip and the rising bruises on her face.

It was a lousy dowry, the life she was destined for, and there was no avoiding it forever. Eventually some jerk would knock her up whether she liked it or not and she'd truly become her mother and aunts and older girl cousins. It was enough to actually make her look forward to the blackmailed performance on Thursday.

Angie halted in mid-stroke with the brush as that sank in. The Stork Club. In all the stress of her encounter with the torpedoes of 4th Street, she hadn't really thought about it. That was the classiest place off Manhattan, full of beautiful women and dapper men and steeped in glamour and danger. In the privacy of her aunt's empty bedroom, Angie could admit to a thrill of anticipation for the sort of spotlight she'd been aching for since before she could walk. 

No Boss, even a crazy, smokin' hot English broad, was going to humiliate themselves by doin' somethin' awful to her right there in the club. So they'd get a performance, dammit, the best one of Angie's young life. If she did a good job-- regardless that she'd been blackmailed into it-- maybe she could even win a place with this Peggy.

Absorbing the thrill of terror and expectation, Angie knew she better be on her best game Thursday, that was for damn sure.

Hair brushed out and makeup covering the rising bruises, Angie was ready to face her family, barely returning her aunt's brief nod of recognition. It was a small respect between them, for they were all warriors in their own right, the women of these neighborhoods that seethed with violence.

She managed to breeze through the crowded family apartment and duck out of dinner with dramatic complaints of swooning ennui. It was a trick used often enough to fly with her family, who expected the theatrics. This time she just had to be careful to not overdo it and call attention to the fact that it really was just an act. It was pretty much always an act and anyone with any sense knew it. Any girl truly as airy and flighty as she often pretended to be would have gotten chewed up by these streets long ago. 

Her sleep was lousy, sore head and empty stomach throbbing, and her dreams fraught with smatters of violence and a sinfully red mouth.

Morning saw her groggy and aching, listening hard for Mama to step out for her grocery run so that she could slip away without showing her bruises. They looked better today at least, just dusky shadows and a bit of swelling. As roughing up went, not too bad. A scarf around her face and hair with some sunglasses would get her to the police station where she could play out more of the farce that would save Vito. She hoped.

Jack Thomson was a handsome bastard and he knew it, strutting around like he owned the precinct. He was also every bit as slick and corrupt as any Wiseguy. He was holding court in the police bullpen, regaling his idiot minions with some undoubtedly exaggerated fiction. Much as Angie's true self wanted to at least mock this tableau of swaggering machismo, she had to downplay or all of this stress and danger were worthless. So she waited quietly until one of the guys elbowed Thomson with a predictable leer. Men.

Greasy as an oiled snake, Thompson oozed over and smiled condescendingly as though he were the best part of her day. He made her head throb.

"Hey there, Martinelli. How'd that little errand go?"

As if her scabbed lip and blue-brushed skin didn't tell half the story.

"It went as well as expected, Detective," she responded dutifully. "Three PM at 6th and Jackson."

"Good girl. Who'd you talk to?"

"I didn't get any names. There was a big black fella and an Irishman with a mustache."

Pleased now, Thompson chucked her chin before sauntering away. "Atta girl. Don't take any wooden nickels, kid."

With utter disregard of the danger he'd sent her into, the cop left Angie standing there in startled stillness, despite knowing she should have expected it. She was wholly expendable to his sort and she knew it. She was wholly expendable to a great many people, she realized with an icy shock, right there in the busy police station. Even her family treated her more and more coldly as the years rolled by, the words of the priests still ringing in all of their ears about sins and perversions and unholy urges. At least she'd never been sent away to one of those horror houses. She'd heard about things done to queeries that shouldn't happen to a rabid dog. 

Acting had definitely saved her life more than once.

And that made her think of Boss Peggy and that dangerous interest, clear in those shadowed brown eyes. Danger, yes, but opportunity… and a tingle of interest Angie couldn't deny.

That was it then. Thursday night would be her breakout performance. There was no definitely looking back now.

With head held high, Angie Martinelli exited the stage to prepare for her new role.

\-----

Sleep came no easier that night and Angie was left groggy and uneasy. Slouched at the edge of her bed, she listened to her mother yell about breakfast, her father's gruff voice, Vince's thin complaining-- that had been infant bawling what felt like not that long ago. Her room in the attic was furnished nearly the same as it always had been, her things worn but loved, handed down from relatives or gifted to her for important occasions. But instead of the scant nineteen she'd lived, it could still be her ten-year-old self that inhabited this space.

Figuring what of her past to take along would not be easy, but she also looked forward to the rush of heady freedom that made her tingle.

Quiet as a mouse, with head down and shoulders loose, Angie shuffled to the table, praying her family would ignore her, and that the fear and excitement radiating from her roused no suspicions. It was so ironic that her quiet betrayed her.

"What's wrong with you?" Vince asked bluntly and his sister winced. Who knew she would miss the crowd of siblings who had moved on from this rickety old table… for one reason or another.

"Nothin'," she groused and the annoyance was no act. "Just not feelin' good. And worried about Vito."

The sudden quiet from the head of the table alerted Angie too late that she'd miscalculated. 

"How do you know about what happened to Vito?"

When Angie had been just an innocent girl, her father had been a jovial, affectionate presence, always ready with a stroke over her loose curls. But time had changed him, brought frowns instead of smiles, suspicion and even a hard hand in place of care. It had grown ever worse as she grew and matured, as though he hated the stranger she'd become. Full grown and then some, she needed to get away; an embarrassment to him by being unwed with no babies underfoot. That was not her path, it never had been. Angie had merely been waiting until something gave her an out.

Even if it meant taking a potentially stupid and assuredly dangerous chance.

"Papa, everyone knows what happened to Vito."

It wasn't supposed to come out so confrontational and Charlie scraped his chair back, once more horrified and driven to anger by his own fear and the drink he leaned on too heavily now to survive. Only Rosa's hiss of admonishment made father and daughter both go still, unable to so much as look at one another. She, like so many, had been dragged along by the slow decline around these old neighborhoods. But, like so many, she remained strong, the rock of her family. What little of it she had left. For her, Angie hated what she knew she had to do.

Quietly helping with the dishes after breakfast, Angie finally heard the words she'd been expecting since her memorable encounter on 4th Street.

"What happened to you, Bambina?"

Flinching, Angie tongued the sore spot on her lip, covered with her most natural-toned lipstick. Papa hated the stuff, so it was no big surprise she'd slipped it past him. Not so, Mama.

"Some Wiseguy didn't want to take no for an answer."

It wasn't the truth, but it was regrettably commonplace on these changed streets and a fate she'd barely managed to duck several times. At least Mama looked concerned and swallowed down being horrified, rather than glare as though being assaulted were somehow her fault.

"I'm okay, Mama, really."

Hurriedly finishing with the chore, Angie fled for her room. It would only be much, much later, that she would realize that in that moment, her mother knew something fundamental had changed in her daughter.

That day Angie spent going through her things, stashing away a few baubles and memories and things she would take with her. Thankfully, there were enough valuables that she could pawn them off to get her feet under her and get out of town should her standing orders at the Stork Club not work out. Every time she remembered her unexpected big break, she had to stop and catch her breath from the excitement and terror. When her throat wasn't tight, she tried to hum to loosen her voice, but it was so hard. Best to hope she didn't crack a note or four, because she was gonna be headed into this insanity nervous and cold.

Exhausted with nerves and lousy sleep, Angie slipped away to visit the hospital. By some miracle, Vito was alone and she counted her small blessings, brushing his messy hair away from his busted face. Glaring affectionately into drug-addled blue eyes, Angie spoke softly, determined not to cry. Poor kid looked like shit. "Stop bein' an idiot, cuz. Please. There ain't gonna be any more favors from me. That door's been shut, okay? Find somethin' as boring and safe as you can." Pressing a warm kiss to his forehead, she sighed and walked away. Her last day of freedom was a somber affair, wandering the streets that had always been home, visiting a few haunts and seeing a few companions before retreating for her last night at home.

It was going to take some time to really sink in.

Dinner than night was a silent affair, leaving Angie both thankful and aching. This was not how she wanted her final meal to leave its imprint on her soul. While her parents played their weekly bridge game with the neighbors-- some things never changed-- Angie snuck into her eldest brother's empty room with a box of memories and a pillowcase of clothes. Gino had died so long ago that she had only shadowy memories and his room was a shrine. It also had a tiny trap door to a crawlspace above the ceiling where she could hide her few treasures in hopes of returning for them one day. And then it was just a matter of waiting to slip away and hope the night would be merciful.

Once again poorly rested, she nearly overslept. Grabbing her few things, Angie left a note, crumpled and tear-stained, on her bed before fleeing the cramped space that had always been home. The early morning rosiness just lightening the sky felt like an echo of her freedom and terror.

In a daze, Angie spent a few coins she technically couldn't spare to take the street car and subway out to Coney Island to putter the day away. With nothing better to do, she showed up at the Stork Club a full two hours earlier than instructed, wavering in wordless exhaustion on the curb. Perhaps that saved her from noticing that she was garnering some attention of the sort that a pretty young thing didn't like… and kept her from jumping like a startled cat when a hard woman's voice suddenly rang out.

"You better be the songbird."

And so it began. 

The woman-- a looker with a sweet face, kissable mouth and eyes as sharp and cold as a blade-- was Loraine. No other name was provided and Angie wisely didn't ask for one. The crew scurried when she barked as they wound their way to a stuffy little room crowded with clothes and a long counter with makeup. Loraine whirled on her and grabbed her chin-- making Angie hiss from her barely-healed bruises-- and studied the new face.

"Well, you're a pretty little thing. This should be interesting. The Boss doesn't ask after my services often. Now, get your ass in the bath and then we'll getcha painted and powdered."

Negligently plucking a thick robe off of a hook to toss it over, Loraine had a final order.

"Oh, and give me your shoes so I know your size. If there's anything you want guaranteed safe, hand it over."

Oh how Angie hated handing over her sack of treasures, her safety net, but for now she was trapped and she knew it. So she handed off shoes and bag and slunk off to the nearby bathroom to clean up, not missing that the dressing room door was locked after the retreating blonde. It was a heavenly bath with good water pressure that ran scalding hot and went miles to relax her. The robe and towels were as thick and soft as she always imagined a fancy hotel's would be, giving her a thrill despite the circumstances. With no way to know when Loraine would be back, Angie found a couch half covered in boxes and clothes, and tossed her towel over the back to sit and fan her hair over the cloth to dry fairly neatly.

The rattle of the lock woke her, groggy and disoriented. 

"Good, you slept," Loraine greeted abruptly, dropping a stack of shoeboxes and flicking a switch that brought the blinding lines of bulbs around the big mirror to life. "Wits'll keep ya alive in this game. Now, park your ass on the chair and grab that notepad. I need a list of everything on the radio you can perform strongly. Half dozen at least. Add a couple stage numbers for variety and I'll see if Barry, the band leader, knows 'em. If you think you can get in an hour, the crowd will love it. Not to mention the Boss."

"The Boss, that's Peggy?" the name felt odd in her mouth, but comfortable, like it belonged there. Wacky. "This place is hers?"

"Dollface, everything in this building belongs to her. This neighborhood used to be a shithole, hard to get out of alive much less in one piece. You give the Boss your best and she'll take care of you."

The third pair of pumps slid onto Angie's feet met with Loraine's favor and she tugged the girl to unsteady feet.

"They're… um… high."

"You'll want that for presence, itsy-bitsy. Now, shoulders back, chest out, chin up, eyes level. Step and put your toes down decisively before settling your weight on the heel. Perfect. You've got a built-in strut so you're less likely to get unbalanced."

The woman was right and Angie absorbed the new sensation of the towering heels and heavier sole than she'd ever seen into muscle memory. Then she was pressed into the chair to work on her list while Loraine attacked her hair.

"Thank all the saints and Smith and Wesson that you've got some curl. We're gettin' low on time."

The cold blast of alarm shook Angie. "What?"

"No, we'll make it. Got a solid half hour before your big debut. You got that list? Good, hand it over."

Angie had a moment to look at herself in the mirror while Loraine went to the door to bellow for someone named Raul. She looked like Mama had that time years ago when that car had nearly winged her crossing the street; eyes wide and skin pale with shock and mouth tight with stress. 

With dire threats about the errand of getting the list to the band leader, Loraine let off to return to attacking Angie's hair. Neither spoke, and with some sort of mojo in her quick, dexterous fingers, Loraine tamed Angie's long mane into something elegant. Slicked tight to her skull in rolls of finger curls like waves licking at the shore after a storm, it was an amazing do.

"Wow."

"No time to admire, kid. Eyes on me."

So Angie watched the pretty, serious face as she was painted and powdered, though the tube of bright red almost made her flinch. Loraine gave her an incredulous look laced with amusement.

"All this and the lipstick finally makes ya balk? You're a strange one. Hey, trust me, I'm a pro at this. Now pucker up. Atta girl. Let that dry for a sec while I get the dress and then we have to get a wiggle on."

The woman in the mirror, even still incongruously in a bathrobe, was an elegant stranger. She didn't even know her hair would do that…

Unfortunately, Angie still had to get through the ordeal of the dress. It was a shimmery, silvery waterfall in Loraine's hands, enrapturing her with the drama of it, but Loraine stopped her with a word laced with the first real amusement Angie had heard yet.

"Nope. Trust me, you ain't gettin' this on yourself. Drop the robe. Oh, don't look at me like that. I couldn't care less about your goodies and believe me that you don't want any skivvies under this thing. Boss went all out this time."

Burning with embarrassment, Angie latched onto the comfort of Loraine's matter-of-fact handling of this whole insane business and only relaxed once the strange-feeling fabric closed around her. And boy did it close around her, a firm grip right to her skin that left her both clothed and feeling so very exposed.

"Shoes, then take a gander."

Despite their running low on time, Loraine gave the girl a moment to admire the glamorous stranger she'd become. With a flourish, she draped an almost ridiculous feather boa about Angie's neck where it trailed nearly to the floor. Surprisingly, it completed the look, calming the incessant twinkle of the silver dress.

"There. Now your performance is halfway there. Let's get you onstage, Songbird."

The cramped, dim maze afforded Angie a bit of practice in the towering shoes, the glitter of her dress startling and distracting her several times. Activity picked up quickly, mostly men in rough work clothes fiddling with ropes and wires and making strange gestures with their hands in wordless communication. Music grew stronger and stronger until they came to their destination.

Loraine tugged the terrified near-starlet to the edge of a shiny black floor that vanished beneath an enormous velvet curtain of shimmery black like a starscape. It was the only thing separating them from the murmur of the crowd now. At the far edge of the curtain, she could just see the edge of the bandstand and several immaculately dressed men and their shiny instruments beside an enormous grand piano.

"Angela," Loraine was frustrated and Angie finally jerked her gaze over, eyes huge in her face. Where had the glass come from? "Knock it back, kiddo."

It burned like a face full of gasoline fumes and Angie's cold belly flamed to heat as she coughed and swore breathlessly.

"Better?" Loraine drawled flatly and earned a glare for her troubles. A quick swipe of a thumb saved the fancy makeup job and the taller woman grabbed Angie by the shoulders to give a heartening little shake. "You'll be great. I've passed on your songs to the pianist and he'll key you up any minute now. Ignore the crowd, ignore the noise and just sing. Go get 'em, Tiger."

With shaky knees, Angie went to the microphone, alone before the glittering curtain bigger than a house, and clung to the cold metal as though she were drowning.

_Just breathe, Angel._

She could almost hear her Nana's voice, comforting her, encouraging that hot spark that made her sing and dance and chatter on about things from the vivid depths of her imagination. No matter how much anyone might ignore her free spirit, or try to crush it into a more sensible shape, Angie always had Nana. They'd always been kindred spirits, singing to the radio and pretending to have fancy tea with the ratty dollies Angie could save from her siblings.

That beloved ghost calmed her, prepared her for the tinkle of piano keys and the low thrum of the upright bass, the weight of the pianist's stare to ensure she'd play her part. But he needn't have worried, for Angie had been waiting for this her whole life.

The show would go on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs mentioned and/or quoted within this chapter are: All I Do Is Dream, by Emilie-Claire Barlow and Just One Dance by Caro Emerald. 
> 
> Angie's dress: http://www.bluevelvetvintage.com/vintage_style_files/2013/01/09/orry-kelly-hollywoods-bad-boy-of-costume-design/orry-kelly-kay-francis-1934/

I could be your perfect disaster  
You could be my ever after  
"Ever After" by Marinas Trench

London had always been a reflection of her people; a veneer of elegant civilization over a core of stubborn viciousness that had once driven a vast empire.

And Margaret Carter was very much a daughter of London.

From an idealized childhood of privileged status and fine schooling to the blackest depths of crushing poverty and abuse, she was a reflection of that elegance and ferocity. Her girlish innocence had been dashed young by her idiot of a father who managed to fumble away the family fortunes until at last he lay dead, choking on his own blood. Her mourning turned to hate as she was dragged to the poor house to suffer indignities and agonies no child should suffer. But no man could break her and she swore to never find herself beholden to anyone ever again. With an animal brutality, she fought back, carved out a niche for herself with blood and terror and crafty intelligence and raw, steely will.

Eventually, London grew too small for her, too dangerous for what some still remembered of her. America would suit her, hold her feral spirit better than this ponderous place choked with ghosts. Through some tentative Mob contacts, she had a few places, a few names and a plan. Nearly from the day she stepped from the boat, she attracted hard-eyed women, the Chinamen, the Irish and the Negros, for what did she care of appearances? Those were merely the facades over the souls within. In only a year, her gang was becoming a formidable force, bonded by loyalty and a respect not often found amid their sort.

They were also hungry to expand.

The echoes of history remembered the greedy reach of the British Empire, her shadow long and deep. In her daughter, now on lands that once the Empire ruled, that hunger was honed once more. That restless, animal drive was softened with an accent elegant and out of place and fueled by an icy will to conquer. Peggy and her gang bided their time, keeping to the shadows cast by the larger predators, skulking about like rats, reluctant to draw too much attention to themselves. 

Eventually, the larger predators took some notice, but Peggy was far smarter and every bit as vicious as the hard-boiled toughs the American Mob sent out to stop her and her 'Howlies'. Easily dispatching the Made Men, she was careful to rein in her violence and left them alive-- if not battered-- tied and stacked like cordwood to be found by their brothers. Before things spiraled out of control, she made her move, sneaking like a serpent into the Boss' lair to confront him on equal terms.

When Howard Stark's personal best found themselves disarmed, he had simply raised a hand and flatly marveled at the audacious she-wolf in his inner sanctum. She was icy control and bristled with a fiery menace that made even his experienced bodyguards hesitate. Like Peggy herself, Howard took little personal notice of the packaging-- so to speak-- but he was trapped in the rigid structure of _La Familia_. In this firecracker, he instantly saw a potential that had led to a friendship counted in good, long years and fortunes made.

Technically, the 4th Street Gang was just that, a conscripted group of street thugs structured similarly to the Mob, but everyone knew they were the Stark Family's best asset. Let the Mobsters swagger with their idiotic machismo, Peggy Carter and her gang knew their worth.

\----

The Stork Club lay on the jagged edge of the neighborhoods of the 4th Street Gang and Stark's territories, a peaceful border of allies. The old bank had been gutted and converted to an elegant joint with enough hidey holes to let the Mobsters and their guests vanish like phantoms if the cops rolled in. The massive stone walls being bulletproof was a bonus. Every vice could be had within, hidden away from any prying eyes. The staff was an endless procession of beautiful and elegant women of every shape, size and color; backed up by quiet, dangerous men.

Everyone knew the Griffith Girls, the prized treasure hoard of the 4th Street Gang and their ruthless leader. Only a fool saw them merely as a gaggle of well-turned out whores, for they were so much more. When they roamed the public floors of the Stork, they were to be treated with respect or a patron was in for a roughing up. Those that took too much advantage of the girl's charms risked being found in the river. Or worse. 

Madam Fry was the well-known keeper of the girls, a hard-eyed, no-nonsense matriarch every bit the hardened warrior as the muscle boys who stood guard. In her own way she was as merciless a figure as Peggy and, despite a well-known mutual loathing, they were both fiercely loyal to the girls. Her house was a clean one and anything more than a bit of marijuana here and there was enough reason for a girl to be kicked to the edge of the Howlies' territory and left to fend for herself. The rules were strict but it was worth it, for they were well fed and dressed and protected-- a position few working girls could attest to-- and the Griffith Hotel was always well staffed.

Be they soldier, whore or corner newsboy, Peggy was fiercely protective of what was hers and ruthless to any that broke that trust. There were stories of what was done to traitors that made even the wiseguys steer clear.

\----

In the shielded archway for vehicles to pull into the Stork Club and drop off their passengers, Steve was out of the front seat before Peggy could even reach for the door handle, his always graceful deadliness and alertness taking in the scene. Her favorite looked impeccable in the charcoal grey three piece suit cut to his superhero-like frame, the crimson necktie a splash of hot color. Never one to trust anything at face value, Peggy's obsidian-sharp gaze whipped over the familiar surroundings before she reached back into the car to help out her escort. In defiance of her sex, Peggy habitually dressed in snappy suits and mirror-shined shoes, leaning to dark colors and rich jewel tones. This suit was her favorite, midnight black with blood red pinstripes and a tie and fedora in the same red. The stunning redhead on her arm was a silky reflection of the visceral color, skin milky above the low-cut bodice, stride loose and elegant and blue-green eyes the envy of any sly cat. For all her stunning good looks and knockout curves, Natasha Romanov was every bit a deadly viper as the Gang Boss and the crowd parted like water before a ship's prow. Steve's hulking presence lent them additional weight as he tailed close by, that sweet face in contrast to the deadly blue eyes.

"A drink, Natasha?"

"Thank you, Peggy."

Their contrasting accents, British and Russian, were a source of amusement to the women when strangers were within earshot. The bartender had already pulled out her favorite spicy whiskey to set it beside two glasses half full of crystal clear ice cubes. He nodded and quirked the faintest smile, eyes not lingering out of respect, pleasing the woman who could have him fired… or rubbed out.

"Thanks, Daniel."

"Pleasure, Boss."

Toting the unopened bottle-- one could never be too careful-- and the glasses, Peggy purposefully led her deadly little entourage further into the cavernous place. There were always eyes on her and she knew it; admiring and hateful and even envious, often murderous. The old guard despised her femaleness and her flaunting her power and preferences with a careless disdain of their dislike, while the expendable soldiers envied the power she wielded for its own sake. 

Peggy was a very alert woman for a great many reasons.

With everything looking to be in order at the club, Peggy focused in on the signature piece of the place, the massive black floor that shone like obsidian. She'd thought the idea madness, even for Howard, but he had been dead on as he usually was about things like this. There was a chamber beneath and tiny holes had been drilled through the heavy, reinforced floor in a random pattern before a thick coat of some clear chemical concoction of the madman's had been poured over it to solidify harder than glass. Pinpricks of light shone up through the holes to turn the black floor into a field of stars. 

Entertainment had always been Howard Stark's forte. 

"Peggy!" the man in question cried out in boyish delight as she strode purposefully over the glossy floor and to her place at his side. On a different day, she would have ruled the central table, but here she was a slightly smaller fish to her adopted brother. He never lorded it over her, never ruffled the prickly dignity of the temperamental Englishwoman, and they remained close in their polar opposites. Howard Stark, for his part, rarely felt safer than he did in Peggy's presence. After all, he was far more valuable to her alive than dead. He was every inch the born to power and riches showman: slick, expansive and outrageous in his habits and mannerisms. With the outrageous frippery, he weeded out the weak who foolishly thought of him simply as a clown. Because it amused him to do so, Howard traded continental cheek kisses with Peggy, one hand light on her elbow and smelling of fine cologne and the best cognac. It was almost enough to cover the wisps of death and danger that lay so close to them and their intimates. 

"Good to see you, Howard. You're looking well."

"You too, Sis. You too."

Their survival depended greatly on one another and their strange affection was real. There was an honesty between them-- rare for their sort-- and their faint, understanding smiles spoke silent volumes. The smile fell away when Howard looked up at Steve, at his usual post at her left shoulder. Once, the deadly man would have guarded Howard's back, before Barnes had died and Steve had become… unreliable. Never really recovering from the bullet to the head and the loss of his best friend, he had grown erratic and dangerous until Peggy had brutally knuckled him under. No matter how much Howard missed the larger man, his gifting him to Peggy had been the right move for all of them. Much of the vivaciousness might never have returned to those beautiful blue eyes, but Steve functioned well enough, his loyalty to the Englishwoman unshakable. Still, it took a squad of heavies to do his job and they discretely dispersed to lurk nearby and give the Big Boss space to relax for an evening.

"Natasha, ya look like a million bucks, as always."

"Thank you, Mister Stark," she replied wryly. Neither of Peggy's most trusted bodyguards had a lick of use for Howard and that was how she liked it. Their focus was her. Howard could ply his playboy wiles elsewhere.

The main floor was shaped as a giant teardrop with the grand table at the point. The huge stage curtain stood opposite, flanked on either side by the bandstand and a huge, sparkling wall that could be configured into various uses by the club. Mostly it was lit up like a marquee with the house name or the act of the night or pretty pictures painted in lights to make the patrons feel good and empty their pockets. Settling in at Howard's side, Peggy scanned the club as an apex predator would her territory.

"Pegs, you gotta learn to relax and have some fun," Howard teased his sister of heart and sipped his drink. He didn't come to the Stork often enough by half, but he was a busy man. A very busy man. Still, Peggy'd specifically mentioned finding a new talent, which was tantamount to a glowing review, so he'd accepted the invite. It was good to hear her get excited… or as excited as she'd ever get about anything anyway. The danger and solidness of character was what had made her a part of the Stark Family, no matter her accent or homeland or that knockout pair of tits. She and Howard were of a like mind that the packaging hardly mattered, just the results.

"I'll have fun," Peggy rolled her eyes mockingly at him, "when…"

A change in the band's energy caught everyone's attention, the bright jingle of tune from the piano, made richer by the double bass.

" _All I do is dream of you, the whole night through_ ," sang a smooth woman's voice over the club's speakers, bringing a hush to the crowd. " _With the dawn, I still go on, and dream of you. You're every thought you're everything, you're every song I ever sing. Summer, winter, oh autumn and spring_."

"She sounds cute," Howard leered and chuckled at Peggy's dark glower.

"Stay away."

With a slow flourish, the shimmering black curtain drew up and away from center stage as the house lights slowly faded. The spotlight swept over the glassy floor to catch at a silvery slash of sparkling gown and slowly climbed the slender body of the singer, sheathed in the clinging and draping fabric. Narrow hips shimmied to the light tune and delicate hands cradled the microphone, all of it framed by a great waterfall of snowy feather boa. A racy décolletage revealed pale upper cleavage, shoulders, and a slim neck, the look completed by Angie's glamorously painted face and done-up hair.

She was every bit as enticing as Peggy suspected she would be.

The audience clapped a bit as she finished the first set of lyrics, slowly sauntering closer during the long duet between piano and double bass. She played the audience like a master, saucy and flirtatious and soaking up the applause as she completed the popular radio tune. A couple more catchy jazz numbers had the club eating out of her hand, the patrons happy and spending money.

"You got a gift, Sis," Howard marveled with a wide grin and Peggy acknowledged the compliment with a nod. In lieu of a reply she clinked glasses with him and kept her attention on the unexpected distraction of the songbird that had been dropped in her life. For all the acceptance and freedoms afforded her by being adopted by the Starks, Peggy never forgot the bottom line. The moment she faltered in her duties to the Family, they would kill her as dead as any mark. Such was the life.

With that thought ever in mind, Peggy was able to tear her attention away from her new recruit and scan the crowd with razor-honed instincts. That was how she noticed that Steve was actually distracted by the entertainment and she was amused-- and perhaps a bit annoyed-- by the rarity. Sometimes the man seemed more machine than human, his vigil faultless and his speed and senses like something from one of Howard's science-fiction novels. When he noticed her sharp gaze, he swallowed and instantly returned to being her most loyal of soldiers. 

Good boy, she'd reward him later.

The flash of spotlight brought her attention around, startled when she realized that Angie had sauntered right up to the main table, never pausing in the jazzy tune she split with the band. Winking outrageously at Howard made him laugh and the girl strutted right up to a mildly taken aback Peggy, her voice wavering the slightest bit.

" _The scent and the aroma refuses to breathe, it's more like a haze that's trying to succeed. It's drawing me in and pulling me to you, and every thought I have turns the language blue_."

Now, perhaps someone looking less intently-- and, really, who didn't have their eyes on that pretty mouth or even prettier cleavage-- might have missed the nervous gulp along that slender throat. But Peggy noticed, even as the girl swept into Peggy's personal space… and boldly perched herself in the pinstriped lap to toy delicately with the hideously expensive crimson tie and the finely crafted eldredge knot at the top.

For just a moment, the Ganglord was shocked; it was unheard of for anyone to be so bold with her.

Angie leaned in close, despite the bulk of the mic she'd been dragging about; the sea-blue eyes wide in her face, half euphoric and half terrified at her own audacity. Her small weight felt good…

" _All it cost is just a minute now, for one dollar you can show me how. I'll take your hand and then your worries too, in just one dance I'll make your dreams come true_."

Just touching the chiseled line of Peggy's jaw, Angie leaned in close enough for their lips to nearly brush, murmuring a repeat of that enticing last line. Despite her fingers itching to grab, Peggy let the tease slither away, trailing the feather boa over the black and red of her own clothing. Emboldened even more now, the saucy thing had a new swing in her hips as she strode back to center stage to finish the number.

The delighted audience quite nearly drowned her out.

Now, if there was any one real weakness Peggy just might exhibit, it was women. Not just any women, but the sort that were steel and silk, with a sense of self that infuriated weak men. Yes, men had their charms, she had certainly broken in her loyal Steve in more than one way, but something in the flash of stubborn strength in a woman's eye… Yes, that was a hook and line hard to resist. 

It couldn't have been a coincidence that the band led Angie into a soulful rendition of 'I Don't Stand a Ghost of a Chance with You'. 

Bowing deeply, Angie straightened up and grinned wildly at the roar of approval from her audience, arms swept up to pose dramatically as the crowd applauded and catcalled. Clearly caught up in the moment, the little spitfire held her triumphant pose before calming and gesturing to the band and clapping for them herself. Glistening with a healthy sheen of sweat and panting hard, she was radiant, bowing a last time before sashaying away as the spotlight vanished and the houselights rose seamlessly. No matter how caught up Peggy was in the performance, she took note of the details of things most would ignore to ensure her people were running at top production. The Griffith Girls discretely flooded into the now well-lit room-- their break over with the completion of the main act-- and began flattering the customers and shuttling drinks. Satisfied, Peggy swung her head around, not expecting to see the streak of glittering silver that was Angie speaking with the band leader instead of heading backstage. Clearly startled, Barry returned her wide smile as she spoke and they shook hands warmly. Waving to the rest of the band, Angie once more forwent going backstage, instead gliding along the edge of the great, inky black floor.

"Again, sis," Howard was chuckling delightedly at her side, "you got a gift. That one is a pint-sized livewire!"

Clapping her on the shoulder, Howard leaned away to chat with the elite bold enough to approach the table in deliberately small numbers. Crowds made bodyguards twitchy.

"And the songbird is drawn to you once more," Natasha murmured slyly and Peggy could quite clearly picture the smirk without actually looking over. "Senator! So good to see you, handsome man." With a rustle of crimson silk, the Russian stepped away to schmooze but Peggy had no doubt she was still close enough to be of use should something go wrong. The pair of expats had that sort of understanding.

Through the slow shuffle of moving bodies, Peggy tracked the progression of the lovely singer. The tables ringing the main floor were the domain of the most powerful and influential, many of them intrigued by the gilt ray of sunshine and her presence that had taken over the Club. With carefully feigned disinterest and Steve's looming menace, Peggy was left alone in the crowd, her dark eyes glued to the girl. Steve was left jumpy at the flash-fires of tension in his boss, not understanding her possessiveness of the girl quite yet.

Those starched shirts better watch their hands…

Despite the admiring well-wishers, at last a very rich banker and an influential diplomat stepped aside and the songbird smiled prettily at them. "Thank you, gentlemen."

She was good, at once effortlessly both girlish and womanly, playing up her sweet-faced charms like a pro. It would be a rare male that would catch the tension around her eyes, the faintest trace of forced ease in her smile and the rigid line of her shoulders and backbone. There was a real falter in her poise as she came to the edge of the table, the wide blue eyes skittering from Peggy, to Steve and back again. So brave in her terror!

"Boss," Angie said quite clearly, strain lacing the edges of her tone, eyes restless but desperately trying to stay focused.

"Kitten," Peggy replied with an amused edge, echoed in the arrogant half-slouch in her comfortable chair. Those alert eyes were fearful as she forced herself to look Steve full in the face, but she squared her shoulders and tilted her chin up.

"Steve."

Completely nonplussed, the big man nearly jumped like a startled cat when one slender hand reached out to fondle the top button of his suit jacket. Pleased and emboldened by her audacity, Angie just about preened at his reaction. Steve for his part seemed torn between confusion and being intrigued, laced with a real fear. The Boss did not appreciate distractions.

It was so like watching a huge dog utterly bamboozled by the unknown factor of a small, persistent kitty that Peggy felt a rusty chuckle bubble up from her chest. She could only imagine Howard's startled look at the highly unusual sound. It certainly made Natasha blink. Well, if the kitten wanted to play…

Catching at the edge of the trailing feather boa, Peggy gave it a sharp tug, instantly getting Angie's attention. For just a moment fear won out, the girl realizing once more the danger she was in the midst of, then she swallowed it down and came along willingly enough. Peggy's hand was bold against the curve of her waist and hip, body heat translating through the whisper-thin metalized fabric. 

"A stirring performance, Angela."

"Thank you, ma'am."

The tone was deferential, with an edge of breathiness that had nothing to do with the euphoria and exhaustion of the stage performance. Nibbling at her lower lip, Angie debated with herself and Peggy took a wild guess of giving the boa another tug. Sure enough, the girl daintily sat on the Ganglord's lap and, with eyes demure, once more fiddled with the intricately wound tie. She was so sweet and nervous and yet bold that Peggy wasn't entirely certain if she wanted to protect her or bend her over the table and ravage her. 

Patience, Margaret, she admonished herself. Apparently the songbird was not ready to flee quite yet.

"Do you think I could do that again?"

The soft entreaty made Peggy chuckle again. Had her shadows not been so deep and dark, she might have laughed in delight. Audacious thing.

"Only the spotlight, Songbird?"

Looking coyly through the darkened fringe of eyelashes, Angie was suddenly laced with need and a hint of sin. Astonishingly, she abruptly melted into Peggy's larger body, burying her face in her neck, her whole wiry body pliant and supplicating. Those hungry and protective urges grew stronger. Breath fast and hot, Angie lay there for a long moment, the clasped hands against Peggy's belly trembling with nerves.

Even mere inches from her ear, Peggy had trouble making out the tremulous whisper. 

"Do you think I could be… one of you? Yours?"

Even Peggy's jaded soul could not ignore the jolt of excitement. She hated to admit to the covetousness in her towards these foolish peacocks surrounding her, so many of them awash with attentive beauties. Oh certainly she was fond of the Griffith Girls, but that was merely friendly business. This stunner had come to her of her own will and the offer was sorely tempting.

"Do you know what you're asking?"

"I'm terrified, not stupid."

The sass was oddly reassuring and the slender body draped all over Peggy was suddenly rigid with tension. Impossibly, Peggy found herself laughing quietly yet again. Her companions must think she'd quite lost her mind at this point.

Perhaps not an entirely inaccurate assessment.

Boldly palming Angie's thigh from knee to hip calmed the girl instantly. A hard hand would waste this strong-willed, sassy, delicate creature and the challenge swirled with raw attraction made up Peggy's mind. Humming noncommittally, Peggy idly pet the nervous songbird and watched the crowd, letting Angie stew in her own unease with the non-answer. This curious thing could be trouble with her bold eyes and smart mouth, but Peggy was an expert at how to wield all tools at her disposal. How to put this firecracker in her place without breaking that fiery spirit…

The answer was provided by one of the Griffith Girls approaching the table, her expression faintly surprised at the stranger audaciously curled up on the local Ganglord's lap. Gloria was a favorite playmate and had long earned as much trust as Peggy was willing to give anyone. There was also a lot more brains behind that sweet face than most clientele gave her credit for; always a useful tool for any woman.

"Cigarillo, ma'am?"

Peggy accepted the offer with a nod, letting the working girl light the tip and enjoying the strong, sweet tobacco smell that wafted about. "I have a special job for you, Gloria."

To some whores, that would be a terrifying statement, but Peggy believed in treating her people as decently as possible. It engendered loyalty, any idiot should be able to figure that out. So Gloria looked merely curious, possibly even eager. "Yes?"

"This one needs to be sequestered away for a bit. Oh don't pout, pretty girl, I'll not forget about you."

Mollified from her kittenish pouting to the mundane errand, Gloria was all dimples again. "You got it, Boss. I'll take care of her like she was my own. C'mon, honey."

Hesitating, Angie huddled to the only familiarity she had; the powerful and dangerous woman she'd thrown her lot in with. A low chuckle was only half reassuring. "Go on then, Angel. I'll send for you soon enough. I'm relying on you, Gloria."

"Yes ma'am."

There was no mistaking that it would be a threat should it need to be.

Reluctantly, Angie sat up and searched the rich brown eyes, close enough to taste that whiskey-scented breath. Not pushing for any specific reaction, Peggy remained relaxed and waited to see what the girl would do, watching the hard swallow of nerves and the glint of determination. 

As first kisses went, it was a memorable one, though not for reasons either of them appreciated. For a split second, there was the merest brush of painted lips, their breaths mingling, potential like a living thing between them.

Then there was a flicker of fast movement and Peggy reacted with snakelike reflex. 

Before Angie could suck in a breath, Peggy's suddenly hard hand at her elbow yanked and twisted, flinging aside her small weight into a large, solid body. Gloria stifled a scream as she was nearly knocked aside by Peggy blurring into motion. In a blink, she was out of her chair and away from the table with gun in hand. 

If the clearly drunken idiot had left it at that, the rough jarring of the Boss' table spilling drinks and eatables, he might have gotten off with a roughing up, but his blurry smile turned into a leer and he stupidly moved towards the danger. Off balance, he swayed towards the temptation of a pretty face and generous tits in a snappy suit. Peggy let him get close enough to almost get in a grope before she grabbed that offending hand and his body contorted with a shout that rose into a hideous scream over the crackle of shattering bone when she brought up her right arm to shatter his elbow. With his arm now bent the wrong direction, the man was jerked like a landed fish, his forward flop halted by Peggy's knee to his face, the screaming choked off as he collapsed into a boneless heap.

The trio of tough guys with hard faces and raised fists that had appeared at their pal's screaming paused in the face of the glowering, mad-bull rage of Peggy's expression. Not to mention the hulking menace at her back and the red shaft of deadly ice at her side.

"Whoever this belongs to," Peggy snarled and kicked the unconscious sack of meat at her feet, "get it the fuck out of my club. Or I will."

Meek as puppies now, the cowed tough guys collected their bleeding, unconscious fellow and the hush in the club broke, albeit with an edge of nervousness.

"Son of a bitch spilled my drink," Howard complained with deceptive mildness and it had the desired effect of all the toughs standing down from combat alertness. "Hey Gloria? Dollface?"

Shaken, the woman jumped a bit at being addressed, but gave him her attention. "Y-yes Mister Stark?"

"Make sure that little party is eighty-sixed for good, will ya?"

"With pleasure, Mister Stark. Come on, honey."

Still bristling with menace, Peggy didn't even watch Angie being led away. Duty always came first.

\----

Of course, it turned out that Gropey was the nephew of some political heavy hitter… and a regular to boot. That he was lying in a hospital half-dead with his face and arm ruined, didn't make things easier. Howard said he would take care of it, told Peggy to lay low for a few days. No matter how mildly spoken, it was an order and while Peggy hated it, she obeyed.

Things were tense around the old Stan Steen Rowhouse on 4th Street, even Steve limping and roughed up as Peggy took her frustrations out on him. Nothing they hadn't all had to suffer through before, but it strained the bonds that held them together into such a formidable force.

But even Peggy's animal temper eventually cooled and she cradled Steve to her, soothing away the hurt she'd inflicted on him. The poor lad really was like a loyal dog, accepting the hardness of her hand because he remembered the softness of it. Not for the first time, Peggy wondered what had happened to him when his best friend had thrown himself in front of that riot of bullets, catching all but the lone chunk of lead that had burned such a horrible furrow in Steve's skull. The deep scar lay hidden beneath the over-long fringe of darkly blonde hair and he allowed only her to stroke that tender place. Yes, she often wondered…

Finally, a note arrived in invitation to a casual dinner at Howard's place and tensions among the Howlies both eased and grew worse. More than one associate had been systematically snuffed out at such a seemingly benign event, and while Peggy was as secure as anyone could hope to be in her profession… 

It was only with the thought that she ought to take an escort that she remembered Angie with a jolt. 

Shit.

Discretely slipping away was easy as the 4th Street Gang had taken over the entire block's ground floors, turning them into a warren of bolt holes and escape routes. Ambushes were nearly impossible and they liked it that way. If there was one thing Peggy missed in this lifestyle, it was being able to walk around freely, but sacrifices had to be made. So a quick car ride later, she strode into the Griffith, quiet with the hour of day, though the gang members left on guard were alert and relaxed, exactly the way they should be. Murmuring quiet greetings, they kept their attention on their task and were easily dismissed by the boss. 

"Have you come to retrieve your… parcel?"

There weren't many who could take that tone of disdain with Peggy, but Madame Fry could. In truth, Peggy was endlessly amused by the parlaying with the older woman.

"I fear I must deprive her of the riches of your establishment, Miriam. Alas."

Narrowed eyes made Peggy bite back a grin. Old Fry hated familiarity and Peggy did love to tweak her. They were too much alike in some respects and the mild poking at one another's boundaries was a well-established game.

"Good day, Miss Carter."

The first and second floors were as quiet as the lobby, the play room doors standing open and someone humming beyond an open door where a cleaning cart sat in the hall. It was an extremely unusual setup with each of the working girls having a tiny, private apartment on the upper floors, with two to a bathroom. There was even a small lounge where they could socialize with one another during their off hours. Work stayed in the play rooms and added to the general good morale of the House. The girls might complain of 'General' Fry's heavy-handed control of the House, but they had it good and they knew it. They didn't spend every waking hour on their backs, fucked ragged. They didn't have a sleazy pimp getting them hooked on something dangerous and expensive. They even kept a decent percentage of their earnings after the House took the lion's share for room and board.

Pulling out her keys, Peggy worked on the trio of heavy locks on the steel door that was a match to all the others in the hall. The doors and the steel plates in the walls had been quite an investment, but who wanted their entertainment interrupted by an assassination attempt?

Alarmed and bleary-eyed, Angie was blinking at the intrusion, Peggy calmly locking the door behind her. Small-bodied and bare footed, the girl almost got the drop on the battle-hardened warrior. 

Almost.

"You!"

Stepping to the side, Peggy choked down her initial reflex of violence and merely grabbed the girl to slam her face first against the door, pinning her there.

"Oh no you don't."

Truly a livewire-- as Howard had cackled on about-- Angie squirmed and stomped, fighting the iron grip locking her wrists behind her back, the hips holding her smaller weight pinned, and the knees clamped around hers. Even whipping her head around failed, Peggy simply clonking their skulls together in warning.

"Temper, temper," Peggy mocked, making Angie hiss at the squeeze to her wrists, squirming and snarling in frustration. It was a good attempt, if not a futile one.

"Is this what you want, Kitten?" Peggy growled quietly, dark eyes a glimmer above the cruel red smirk. Trapped like a mouse in a constrictor's coils, there was little Angie could do but squirm against the iron grip on her body. "A bit kinkier than I would have thought of you, but I'm adaptable."

With another maddening chuckle, Peggy wrenched the smaller woman around, an arm twisted up her spine to keep her on her toes and unable to fight back. With a rattle of chain and cold metal on her wrists, Angie was cuffed and shoved onto the bed. Just as expertly, Peggy grabbed a length of silk rope from the treasure drawer in the little table by the bed and bound up her ankles before tying the loose end to the bedframe. The girl lay there, face turned away, breath harsh and body trembling with whatever madness was running through her head.

Red-lacquered nails trailing lightly down her back made Angie shiver ever more powerfully. "Just get on with it," she ground out through clenched teeth and Peggy sighed at the dramatics. Stepping away, she carefully undid her well-cut suit jacket and hung it up, tucking in the tie amidst the shirt buttons, and began rolling up her sleeves. The physical ritual always put her in the mindset of hands-on work, be it business or pleasure. Angie would come to recognize it well, as all her people did. Clacking down the lone chair in the room beside the bed, she loomed over her prey once more.

"Let's clear up a few things, Angela, shall we? You are a potentially valuable asset and clearly intelligent enough to understand the threat this place is meant to be. If you honestly desire to be treated like some common whore," the silky voice was in sharp contrast to the hard hand yanking Angie's head around until she was half forced onto her back. "I can certainly accommodate you."

Peggy couldn't see Angie's blue gaze from where she stood, but the muscles of her face flexed and shifted with clear stress.

"I don't know what you want," Angie finally whispered, with a faint whimper of confused need in her voice. That brought up Peggy's red-lipped smile once more.

Letting the girl go, Peggy took a seat and lit a cigarette to take a long drag. The energizing calm washed over her, an indulgence not often allowed. Warily, Angie shifted so that she half faced the Mobster, flinching when Peggy abruptly pulled her feet up to cross them indolently above the girl's head. Her arrogance was both appealing and off-putting, adding to the endless confusion she wielded against others to keep them off-kilter. Smug as a cat, Peggy watched her helpless prey for long moments, intrigued by the fiery spirit glaring out of those blue eyes.

Peggy did like her girls spirited!

"Four days ago, you handed yourself off to me," she said casually. "Went to great lengths to stamp possessiveness upon my person, even. Not something any fool should do lightly. I assure you, Miss Martinelli, that I am not to be trifled with."

"I meant what I said."

That made Peggy pause and reconsider her next move. She always was a sucker for a good mental game. Angie couldn't quite meet her eye, uncomfortably half on her side, hands still cuffed behind her back. Her pretty face was flushed and mulishly stubborn. It was oddly adorable.

"And yet, histrionics."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I panicked. I just started figuring you'd left me here to… to…"

The obstinate expression barely hid the fear and Peggy smirked wryly. "Become one of the girls?"

"Aren't I anyway, kinda?"

"Of a sort, I suppose. Don't sulk so. These women are among my most prized possessions and allies and I abhor their mistreatment. That said…"

Again, Angie flinched as Peggy yanked her feet back and sprang up to retrieve the keys to the cuffs, freeing her. Warily sitting up, she watched the Ganglord take up that same arrogant half-slouch in the chair for a moment before reaching for the silky rope around her ankles. A strangely easy quiet hung over the room like the wisps of cigarette smoke.

"Do you like girls, Angela?"

The flinch that ran from top to tail spoke volumes; recrimination in every line of her small frame.

"Because, I assure you that I do. Oh men have their recreational uses to be sure and I've had a few over my years, but too many of them see sex as a conquest." Her smile was chilling and Angie had to glance away. "And I assure you that I am not easily conquered."

Any reply was lost in a growl that made Angie flinch and Peggy to raise a brow.

"Was that your stomach?"

"Uh… yeah. The eating's been… sporadic here."

Filing that nugget of information away, Peggy stood and gestured for Angie to follow.

"Come then. Let's get you fed."

Noting personal items in the room that must be Angie's, Peggy locked up behind them before heading downstairs. She noticed that Angie flinched at the empty dining room and wondered what had transpired there. In the well-appointed, restaurant-style kitchen, she raided the fridge, well aware of Miriam appearing with outrage written over every inch of her frame before retreating silently. 

Angie nearly leapt on the plate of cold slices of chicken, inhaling several before Peggy could put together a proper sandwich. 

"The eatin' here is good for sure," Angie mumbled around a mouthful, eyes showing that she was still unnerved by the quiet woman sitting across from her.

"I take care of my own."

Again, a strange ease fell between them, a lull of calm between surges of fear and high emotion. Peggy was aware of that intent sea-blue gaze on her, buying herself a bit of time by nibbling some of the chicken. Where to take this odd interaction now? She'd never been in quite this position before, wanting, but unwilling to just take. Finishing the sandwich, Angie greedily drank down the glass of tomato juice set before her and made a childishly pleased noise that threatened to make Peggy smile. Roughly squelching down the surge of warmer emotion, Peggy berated herself. This was just another associate, dammit, another negotiation, another thing to make hers.

Clicking the glass to the wooden kitchen island, Angie crossed her arms and regarded her companion levelly. "So, I guess we gotta talk then."

Bold as brass, this one, and this time Peggy couldn't fight down the curl of amusement at the corner of her mouth. "Yes."

"So, I get that I gotta be a… performer," Angie hesitated on that last word, her eyes grown nervous again, a habit she would need to unlearn to survive in this business.

"Always look you opponent in the eye."

"What?"

"You've a nervous tic of looking away. It will be taken as a sign of weakness, trust me. Stare into another person's eyes with conviction and you'll be astonished at the effectiveness. Go on."

Processing the information, Angie was silent and withdrawn for a long moment, looking down at the arms she'd crossed on the table. As in any negotiation, Peggy chose to wait her out. After a moment, the girl drew herself up proudly and looked the Ganglord right in the eye. Good girl.

"I want to keep singing."

"That has been established, yes."

"But we don't want the crowd to get sick of me."

"And I've plans for you myself."

Caught off guard, Angie's gaze skittered, but she forced herself to meet and hold Peggy's intense stare. The crimson lipped smile she earned was pure approval. 

"Yeah, about that… You're gonna have to help me out a bit."

It took effort, but Angie held Peggy's eyes, flushed around the cheeks a bit, but soaking up the rolling chuckle.

"I can do that. Come here."

Nervous but willing, Angie circled around the table and watched as Peggy trailed a hand up her leg as she had done that first night in the club, the material of her skirt ruffling softly. 

"And, yes, as much as you confuse me and scare me and piss me off, I am attracted to you. What's your whole name, by the way? I like to know everything that I can."

"Audacious thing," Peggy chortled and with quick hands, roughly jerked the skirt up around Angie's hips and pulled her down to straddle her lap. It earned a startled sound and a hard grip on her shoulders, Angie's face flushing rosy at the sudden intimacy, but she forced herself to relax. Leaning in, breath fast, they once more were a hairsbreadth from a kiss when Peggy spoke up conversationally. "Margaret Carter."

"Carter," Angie murmured experimentally, savoring feel of it. "I like it." Then she smirked wryly, cocking her head like a curious dog. "Though you don't look like a Margaret."

"Then you understand why I use Peggy instead."

"Fair enough. Can I actually kiss you this time?"

The faint petulance made Peggy laugh quietly and shift her hands to press Angie's body closer. She must have read the intent of more mischievous words, for Angie ducked in abruptly, her mouth ungraceful and tense, but determined. As kisses went, it couldn't have been more awkward had they been terrified teenagers sneaking around behind a parent's watchful gaze, but it served to move them forward. Chuckling once more, Peggy ran her open hands over that lean back, soothing away some of the tension and slithering up under the trailing ponytail to cup Angie's skull.

"Relax," she murmured, soft and low, like a big cat's purr. "I won't bite. Yet."

The faint splutter of amusement was a rush of air that danced over their mouths, still touching. Curious and undemanding, Peggy learned by touch, with eyes slit nearly to darkness. She listened to and felt Angie's quick breath, and the silent words her wiry body spoke. A gentle press of lips, the softness sliding, teasing; no teeth, no tongue, just lips and warm breath loud in the quiet.

It was the beginning of a connection neither of them would ever forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other songs from the author's inspiration collection (all courtesy of Spotify):   
> One Day - A Night Like This - Absolutely Me - Just One Dance - That Man - I Belong to You - Coming Back as a Man - Liquid Lunch, Caro Emerald  
> The Swing Phenomenon [feat. Nicolle Rochelle], Bart & Baker, Nicolle Rochelle  
> The Very Thought Of You, Natalie Cole  
> In a Sentimental Mood - But Not For Me, Ella Fitzgerald  
> Don't Blame Me, Etta James, Jimmy McHugh, Dorothy Fields  
> (I Don't Stand) A Ghost of a Chance With You, The Hot Sardines  
> Embraceable You, Rebecca Ferguson  
> I Surrender Dear, Aretha Franklin


	3. Chapter 3

Where do we go from here?   
How do we carry on?   
I can't get beyond the questions.   
Clambering for the scraps   
In the shatter of us collapsed.   
It cuts me with every could-have-been.  
-"Wait It Out" by Imogen Heap

The sweet, exploratory kisses were going to wreck her.

No fumbling, desperate caresses these. No fear of discovery, of recriminations, just that iron surety of self that bled off of Peggy like heat from a fire. No matter the terror, Angie couldn't deny being drawn to that sense of self, wanting to know how she could learn some more of that for herself. The pull of attraction dovetailed into the effortlessly warm seduction of that sinful red mouth, the tender suckle and caress at her needy lips.

Dizzy with the drugging kisses, Angie chased after that soft mouth with a small sound of protest when Peggy leaned away a bit. The cradling hand on her head slid warmly around her slender neck and traced her jaw, thumb lightly brushing her lower lip, now stained with sinful red.

Peggy didn't repeat the intent of more for Angie, for her faint smile said it all. For her part, Angie felt rather broadsided by all the chaotic emotions that had scarcely let her up for air in… had it only been a week? The four days locked up in this damn room had scrambled her brains. 

Angie had gone through a wide spectrum of thought and emotion, ranging from murderous rage, to wanting to scream and scream with terror, to heated curiosity that made her want to put a hand down her knickers. That room, full of all sorts of props that ranged from dangerous to incomprehensible to red-faced fantasy-inducing, just added to the confusion. 

And the sounds that bled through the walls? Unbearable.

So, yeah, she'd found herself damn curious about the enigma she'd fallen in with. When she wasn't spitting mad, she was wondering what it would be like to do more than sit in her lap and lay against those warm curves…

The reality, so far, did not disappoint.

Caught up completely in Peggy's firm hands on her back, and that damnable, teasing mouth, Angie didn't even register the words spoken quietly against her lips.

"There is a dinner at Howard Stark's this evening. I would have you on my arm."

"Okay," she agreed dreamily, but abruptly shook herself out. "Wait, what? I don't have clothes…"

"You leave that to me, Kitten. A shopping trip is in order. Go change and I will call for Steve and a car."

Pressing a quick kiss to Angie's sweet mouth, she helped her stand and followed suit. Quickly removing the key for the playroom from her collection, Peggy handed it off.

"Lock up behind yourself and your things will be safe."

Dazed as she perpetually seemed to be around this woman, Angie headed back to the second floor on her light feet, grown chilled in their bareness.

"Kissed the blush right off you, huh?"

The nervous jump wasn't feigned, Angie whipping around quickly enough that only a lifetime of traversing a home riddled with narrow, uneven stairs saved her from a nasty fall. 

"You again," she half-blustered and half-growled, eyes narrowing at the tall blonde's delighted grin. There was something wrong with the woman, some brittle edge around the corners of her mouth and eyes that made Angie want to run for the hills. It was something predatory and greedy that reminded Angie too much of the desperate men that would eye her as something to be conquered. The lack of anyone else about was making her heart race; there was a reason she'd been avoiding being alone with this loony.

When Dottie stepped at her-- too quick to be anything friendly-- Angie couldn't stop the flinch back.

"We could have stopped that blushing days ago."

For a moment, Angie was convinced that-- of all the sick ironies-- she'd avoided getting seriously sexually assaulted all these years by the boys in the neighborhood, only to get cornered by this grinning madwoman and her crazy eyes.

But the click of heels approaching stopped whatever was happening in its tracks.

"Saved by the bell," Dottie chirped as though they were best pals discussing their plans for the day and her wide smile made Angie think of sharks.

"Kitten?"

Still trying to catch her breath, Angie jumped again when Peggy spoke-- oddly gentle-- as she came around the corner of the stairwell. There was no mistaking the quick dart of the brown eyes searching out any threat and the bristle of subtle menace… not at her, Angie realized, but for her.

"My nerves are shot."

Crowding Angie up the stairs, Peggy remained alert. For her part, Angie had no idea where Dottie had vanished off to so quickly; and didn't that just make the wacko even scarier?

Even locked up again behind the steel door-- Peggy'd had to pry her shaking hand open to retrieve the key-- Angie couldn't relax. Determined to not fall apart, she grabbed a clean change of clothes and barricaded herself in the bathroom, cupping the cold water from the tap to her face in an effort to calm down. Memories and fears crowded her, leaving her in a shaking panic. Figures it would be an encounter with crazy Dottie to finally drive it all home…

It had taken more than twenty-four hours for anyone to come and release her. Sure, she was as used to being hungry as the next gal, because too often it didn't feel like 'The Great Depression' was over, no matter what the blats(*) said. It had been the Madam herself who let her out, none too happy at the disruption, but unwilling to let the stranger left in her keep to starve. Half delirious with nerves, lack of sleep, and belly-pinching hunger, Angie had crept downstairs and joined the gaggle of strange women around a surprisingly well-appointed table. They'd stared and whispered, half-fascinated by the unknown quantity in their midst and half horrified as she'd attacked the roast beef and potatoes like a starving street urchin. That hot dog at Coney Island had been nearly two days ago and Angie had been too ravenous to care about the stares. 

Gloria had cringed with guilt and led Angie back to her room personally. Much as Angie wanted to hold a grudge over what she'd been put through, she'd forced herself to give Gloria a second chance. Frankly, she needed all the friends she could get. Besides, her hunger was finally sated-- even if the weight of food in her belly had made her a little nauseous-- and had a cloth napkin lumpy with a few rolls and a pair of apples. Just in case. 

Gloria made good use of her second chance and Angie was spared a repeat of the burning humiliation of having to bang on the door and beg to be let out to eat. The gamble of befriending Gloria paid off with Angie being allowed to eat with the Griffith Girls in the evenings-- their breakfast-- and again in the wee hours of morning for dinner and lights out. Gloria had even defended her against the other's curiosity, though a few gropes had made it through her vigilance and the filthy innuendo had flown thick and fast.

They'd had her more than half convinced that any girl's fate inside these walls was to become part of the stable. That it was only a matter of time before someone would come to break her in…

Vito in the hospital, the big bodyguard slamming her face onto the desk, her last meal at home with Mama's terror and curiosity, the thrill of that amazing performance at the Stork Club, the screams of the drunken idiot that Peggy had beaten, the days of being cooped up here… So much had happened so fast.

For some time, Angie sat on the edge of the bathtub with her face in her hands and fought the sobs and shakes. It was Nana's voice that came to her again, telling her dig deep, to bring that chin up and keep marching forward. With the memory of that beloved voice and pure strength of will, Angie forced down the shaking and found calm enough to fake it once more.

When at last she swept out of the bathroom, cleaned up and with a touch of makeup to cover the dark smudges under her eyes and give her pale cheeks some color, she was half-surprised to find Peggy still there, casually closing a paperback book.

"Thank you for waiting," she said formally, "and for helping me out with those locks. Normally, I try to be more put together than that. I confess I was a bit surprised to see you, as I would have been just a few minutes…"

"My jacket."

Losing her tenuous grasp on being cool and calm, Angie faltered and stammered, "W- what?"

"I left my jacket in here. Clearly, I am no gentleman, but I would look ridiculous out on the town in a shirt and tie with no jacket. Shall we?"

Meekly following the Mobster out of the room, Angie did her best to ignore the handful of girls staring from where they milled around in the process of preparing for their workday. At the curb, Steve stood at the waiting car, clearly twitchy to be out in the open in broad daylight. Once they were all in the car, the nervous fella who shared Peggy's accent pulled away smoothly and they were on their way to whatever shopping adventure awaited.

Angie hadn't expected to find herself at the grand limestone edifice that was Sterns Department Store where it held court over its coveted place across the street from Bryant Park. When Peggy offered an elbow, she didn't hesitate a lick to latch on, fearing her craning her head to take it all in would send her sprawling. For a poor kid from Brooklyn, the famous store was magical. Even the mundane things, like appliances and sturdy shoes, were impressive as she had never owned anything new of real value in her life.

She didn't balk until they passed by the regular women's department and she could see the racks and racks of beautiful fancy clothes she'd only ever admired in the news rags or in the rare catalog. 

"I can't…"

"Angela, you are to be my escort and will be dressed as such. These are props, nothing more."

It was the right thing to say and Angie drew herself up haughtily and threw on her actress persona to bluff her way through the poking and prodding, the stripping and showing off of various things that flattered her small frame to its best advantage. While a part of her railed against being treated like some sort of living dolly by the pair of serious-eyed saleswomen, it made the ordeal easier somehow, just as with Loraine at the Stork. 

The beautiful, soft things draped over her small curves gave her a visceral thrill, playing into her love for the theater and the need to be more than her past. The fancy togs transformed her into a glamorous stranger in the mirror, the excited flush on her cheeks better than any rouge.

"Lookin' good, hot stuff," Angie flirted with her own reflection and the younger saleswoman stifled a giggle at her coworker's sharp glance. The younger women shared an exasperated look when the snooty old prude turned away, covering up girlish giggling with various levels of success.

As Angie showed off a half-dozen dresses she particularly liked, the gleam of appreciation in Peggy and Steve's eyes reinforced her belief that she was destined for big things. It gave her a thrill like nothing she'd ever felt before, lust and terror and power and helplessness like a storm of emotion inside of her.

It wasn't just dresses and gowns either, but all the things that would transform her to a real lady. Beautiful shoes, a pair of elegant, fashionable hats, a tiny purse of white alligator leather, a completely unnecessary modern elastic girdle for her narrow frame-- though at least her titties weren't open for view while changing anymore-- and whisper-fine stockings of real, honest-to-Nana silk. There really weren't too many dresses brought, the salesladies knew what they were doing, and they were all deliberately neutral, meant to be accessorized for variety. Though the younger of the two did sneak in a strikingly gorgeous summer dress in springy, pastel shades with layers of diaphanous skirts and a fitted bodice that Angie marveled at in the mirror. The other things had been classy and wonderful, but this? This dress made her want to dance.

She wasn't even going to show it to her mysterious benefactor, but was unceremoniously shoved through the curtain and stood there blushing.

"I know it's not right for the event tonight…"

"It looks lovely on you. Wear it out?"

For the first time, Peggy sounded faintly questioning instead of bluntly demanding and Angie preened at the note of acceptance. She also got an additional pair of shoes to go with the finely dyed silk and twirled in the kitten-heel white pumps. They dawdled over a lovely lunch in the store's ritzy restaurant, Angie soaking up being the elite for the first time in her life, absorbing it like a role she was meant for while her elegant, dangerous companions watched and marveled over the skill. She was riding high on the euphoria of the movie-perfect day, capped off with Peggy dragging her into the jewelry department where Angie protested and nearly hyperventilated over the single strand of small, flawless white pearls the salesman draped around her throat to lay just above her collarbones. 

"Now you look complete," Peggy said with satisfaction, white teeth flashing and Angie reveled in that approving smile.

Ever so glad she had no idea what all the luxurious goodies had cost, Angie sat in the car as they headed home and fingered the fine silk where it drifted over her thighs.

"Miss Carter? Boss? Do you think I might get Loraine's help? Over at the Stork? I'd like to look my best. And could I have a way to get into the room at the Griffith? It's the only bed I have."

Falling silent after the abrupt upchuck of words into the car's quiet, Angie tried not to cower in embarrassment. Really, there were times her mouth seemed like it wanted to get her killed. Shooting her a weird look out of the corner of her eye, Peggy reached up to rub the bridge of her nose and Angie squirmed.

"I mean…"

"No, you've a valid point, Angela. Let's head for the club, Edwin."

"Yes ma'am."

The Stork Club was a very different animal with shafts of sunlight shining through the high windows and every electric light ablaze. Chairs were set atop the tables, stripped of their fine linens and it was echoingly quiet with no patrons. The few employees paused, a few blanching or scuttling away at the Boss' unexpected presence. 

"Well this is a pleasant surprise," a man's voice said agreeably and Angie saw a fella stand up awkwardly from behind the main bar. He had those sorta rugged pretty boy looks that mothers seemed to love when their daughters brought his sort home. She managed not to laugh, but the fella looked at her oddly and grinned suddenly. "Hey, you're the singer from Thursday. You were terrific."

"Thank you."

He chuckled at her playful curtsy and Peggy smirked. "Daniel, Angela Martinelli. Angie, Daniel Sousa, head bartender."

"A pleasure," Daniel beamed and took her offered hand in a hearty handshake over the bar. It took Angie aback, not accustomed at all to being treated as an equal by men. "You need anything, tell me or Loraine. I know you already met her."

"Thank you, Daniel, I'll take you up on that if I need to. Is Loraine around?"

"Here," the woman in question called out and strode in from seemingly nowhere. Angie honestly had no idea where she'd come from. When the situation was explained to her, Loraine wasn't entirely pleased with a stranger underfoot, but couldn't argue that stabling Angie with the rest of the talent made sense. She was left standing awkwardly with Steve and Edwin for long minutes while Loraine pulled Peggy aside for a quick discussion. An avid people watcher when she could get away with it, Angie was fascinated by their calm body language that nonetheless spoke of amusement and danger.

"Birds of a feather," she commented quietly, fishing for a reaction from the odd bodyguard and unsure what to make of his flat, slightly questioning look. "Those two. Self-contained, calm, but with lots of emotion just under the surface. Right?"

When Steve's expression didn't change, Angie faltered and sighed. Guess that 'charm anyone' gift Nana always went on about didn't work after all.

"Peggy could take her."

The cheeky comment was so unexpected that Angie's gaze jerked up to see a glimmer of humor in his sky-blue eyes. Her giggle bubbled up and she tried to stifle it behind her hand. Clearly pleased with himself, Steve went back to keeping an eye on their surroundings, but the faint smile lingered at the corners of his mouth.

Completing their business, Peggy and Loraine rejoined them, the former looking impatient and the latter, anticipatory. "We've some business to attend to before heading out, so this is where we part until this evening, Kitten," Peggy said, her mind already drifting off to the next task. "Edwin, take her things to her room and we'll meet you at the car."

"Daniel," Loraine jumped in. "Can you get her settled into Rosie's old room?"

He looked mildly taken aback and Angie had to wonder why. When Peggy instructed Steve to come along, Angie was struck by an insane urge. Stepping over to the taller woman, and steeling herself past her nerves, she pressed a soft kiss to the corner of that red-painted mouth. "For luck."

Head held high, Angie walked away towards the stage, trusting the menfolk would follow.

\----

It turned out the room she was to inhabit was a mixed blessing. While shabby and cobbled together from backstage odds and ends, it seemed sound enough and had a gigantic window that looked over the alley behind the Club.

"Not so great in winter," Daniel scoffed. "Every exterior room turns into an icebox, but we've learned a few tricks, so you'll be okay. Here's the key and feel free to poke around while you wait for Loraine to check in. Don't wander though. This place is a rabbit warren and it takes a few weeks to get the hang of it."

Absently thanking him and Edwin, Angie locked up behind them and poked through the room. 

There was no proper bed, but the oversized couch opposite the huge window would do just fine with bedding she found in a battered cedar chest. Everything seemed clean and smelled fairly fresh. More clothing and accessory storage than Angie had ever seen made her new things look more than a little forlorn in the echoingly empty space. It made the huge, empty makeup table with its banks of big electric bulbs look all the emptier, but that would change soon enough. She could hardly wait!

The old building clearly had not originally been wired for electricity, as the conduits had been screwed straight into the stone and heavy wooden walls. Those lines led her to a closed door where the doorjamb had been roughly cut to allow them passage. The old high-tank crapper inside was familiar enough-- and a welcome privacy-- but it was the shower that made her squeal like a child on Christmas morning. Its naked plumbing was utilitarian and ugly, but it was a honest-to-Abe _shower_ , just like in Peggy's room over at the Griffith. Gloria'd said it was one of the best perks, everyone gettin' their own shower and toilet. Talk about swanky! The newer eclectic lights were catty-corner to the old Victorian gas unit, which she noted still had its mantles in place, so it must work. It was odd, but nothing more than a curiosity in a building this old.

With little to do but wait, Angie settled her nice dress as best she could and dozed off on the couch, to be woken later by a loud knock. Clearly harried, Loraine led her to a common area on the ground floor below where Angie knew she would be spending much of her down time. It was empty save a good-looking colored fella with a grin that could charm a holy saint of virtue. With real relief, Loraine introduced him as Sam Wilson and his smile deepened as he half bowed over Angie's knuckles.

"A pleasure."

"She was the surprise act on Thursday that I'm sure Barry's been going on about. She's also the Boss' girl, so you take good care of her."

"Yes'm, leave that to me."

"Angie, Sam here is the best piano player in three boroughs and don't let anyone else tell you otherwise. I should be back in an hour or so if you'd like a hand getting ready."

"Thank you, Loraine, that would be great." 

It didn't take long for the two artists to hit it off like old friends and by the time Loraine returned, Angie had the bare bones of life at the Stork filed away in her memory. And better, she had Sam firmly in her corner. Back in the same dressing room from her big debut, Angie sat quietly, watching Loraine's serious, pensive face.

"I know we're not pals or anything," she hedged once she was fairly certain she wasn't going to get barked at to stay still. "But what's eating you?"

For a moment, there was no reply, merely a pause in Loraine's busy, concise movements before she took a pencil to Angie's brows. "These sit downs are always stressful. Business and pleasure get very convoluted with the Mob and I want you and the Boss safe."

Angie almost teased her for the sentiment, but was too sobered about the information given to carry through. "Yeah…"

By the time Angie was sitting at the bar nursing a weak Sidecar while Daniel finished up his prep, she was full of butterflies. Would there ever be a time she wasn't fascinated and terrified around these people? Probably not. At least it made for good survival instincts. She practiced her best aloof Greta Garbo and Daniel gave a few pointers with a smile.

"We'll make a moll outta you yet."

Before she could sass the man back, a now-familiar guard dog framed himself in the main doorway and those sharp blue eyes cut to her instantly.

"That's my cue. Thanks, Daniel."

"Break a leg, kid."

In yet another car, Peggy awaited, holding out a hand to help her companion step in. "You look lovely, darling."

The endearment startled Angie, but earned a smile. "Thank you."

It was the only exchange until they pulled up to a swanky building that a person could almost feel bristling with menace. Only then did Peggy heave a strained sigh, the only specter of nerves Angie had ever seen in the tough woman. 

"I brought you because I know you can handle this," she said quietly in that richly accented voice, quirking a lopsided grin far too appealing on that strong, beautiful face. "And Howard liked you."

Just as she'd done earlier, Angie leaned in and pressed a fleeting kiss to that smile. "For luck."

It deepened the nervous quirk to a warmer grin and they stepped out together to face whatever was to come.

\----

For all the class and fancy the 4th Street Gang had in their headquarters, it looked like a shanty next to the palace Howard Stark had set up his reign in. Doing her best not to openly gawk at the finery, Angie desperately tried to hang onto all that aloof Greta Garbo mystique and glide effortlessly at Peggy's side. At least today her heels were nice and normal and peeked out from beneath the floor-length draping black gown as she walked. The opulent hall echoed with the sounds of chatting people and dumped them into a room full of the rich and powerful. The awkward moment of entrance was shattered by Howard's happy bellow of, "Peggy! Sis, c'mere, I got some people you need to meet. And you brought the songbird, excellent." 

At the effusive welcome, some of Peggy's tension eased and Angie was struck by Loraine's words back at the Stork's makeup room. 'Business and pleasure get very convoluted with the Mob,' she'd said and Angie realized with a blast of icy fear down her spine that Peggy had feared this meeting was to be a death sentence. The Ganglord raised a brow as Angie's light grip on her arm tightened, jerking her to a halt. Angie had gone quite pale, her eyes looking so very blue. Then she dug deep and took a deep breath to draw herself up, feeling so many predatory eyes on her. "My apologies, Peggy, I just had a moment of lightheadedness there. I must be famished."

There was approval in that red-lipped curl of smile. "Well, that need will quickly be taken care of. Come, we'll greet Howard and get a little something in you."

A cheerful Howard gave Peggy a hearty, backslapping hug and tugged at Angie's demurely offered hand to give her a wet kiss on the cheek, his mustache tickling. "You guys are good, just keep an eye out for Uncle Grady. He's still a little steamed and this pretty little thing is right up his alley."

Peggy didn't growl, but her body language just about screamed it.

Dinner was a sumptuous affair where Angie flickered her gaze around the table and altered her behavior to echo theirs. Rarely in her life had she ever been more thankful for her constant people watching, learning their habits and quirks to add them to her skills of entertaining and adaptation. Many of the women were poorly disguising distaste-- completely expected as she'd clung tight to Peggy's side-- and many of the men far too curious. That she was also blatantly the youngest one there didn't help any. One fella, going grey at the temples and thickening around the middle, reminded her enough of her father to make his predatory stare even more disturbing. She'd bet her eyeteeth that was the aforementioned Uncle Grady.

Angie studiously did not meet his gaze.

Eventually one of the women politely asked Angie what she did and it was time to see if her acting chops and Peggy's faith in her were enough. Dabbing carefully at her mouth with the fine napkin-- and boy howdy did she want to steal about a dozen of the things-- Angie once again channeled her aloof inner Garbo and told the truth. She was so pleased that her voice was steady and normal-sounding that her smile carried a sunny warmth that did more to thaw out the jaded crowd than she would ever know.

The euphoria of pulling off the act lasted all through dinner and into jovial cocktails in a sprawling room that looked like a movie ballroom. She wanted to dance like some of the couples were doing, but wisely stayed at Peggy's side and did her best to keep an ear and eye out on the crowd. That gave her a heads up that she was being hunted. 

Creepy Uncle Grady was definitely zeroing in and Angie was desperate to avoid making a scene. She'd seen Peggy's temper at work and needed for it not to make an appearance here. Luckily her frantic glance met Howard's and there was a sober moment of understanding before he plastered on one of his jovial grins.

"Songbird! C'mere! I need something new to brag about."

Peggy took note of the shout, her expression typically amused and faintly exasperated with her brother, but that was all. Glad the silent exchange had been missed, Angie offered a smile. "I'll be right back, Peggy."

"Take your time."

With sinuous dexterity, Angie slipped away, using another couple as a blind, and was grateful to be scooped up beneath Howard's offered arm. That it was probably the safest place in the room was an irony not lost to her. Bragging about the performance at the Stork and asking after any original music Angie might have, Howard bought her some time. As she suspected, he proved to be far more sober and alert than his appearance would suggest when he drew her into a sloppy hug to whisper conspiratorially. "Let's test your acting skills, doll. Pretend you're feelin' dizzy or a little zozzled. Let's get you out of here and save everyone the drama."

"With pleasure, sir."

Laughing suddenly, Angie let the sound taper off and stumbled a bit, not quite swooning. Howard was instantly all worry and Peggy nearly leapt over, her face concerned. Those strong arms felt like safety to Angie, no matter the violence dealt out by them. She didn't understand it, but she felt it keenly.

"Darling, are you all right?"

There was no denying that sweet endearment made her all warm and fuzzy inside.

"I'm feeling a bit overheated and dizzy."

The very picture of the worried friend, Howard made sure to press Angie into Peggy's stronger body. "This has been a lot of excitement for your new girl, Sis. Maybe you ought to take her home and put her to bed, huh?"

It was in that moment Peggy clued in that there was more going on then met the eye, her gaze jerking from one to the other. In trying to figure out what was going on, she went rigid with tense threat, but a glare about the room was stopped by Angie's slim fingers on her chin. "Can we go home, Peggy? Please?"

It was enough.

In a flurry of activity, Edwin had the car pulled up and Steve hovered until they were all in the vehicle and driving away. Only then did Angie sigh and straighten up from where she'd been feigning weakness and Peggy reluctantly removed her arm.

"Thanks for playing along. Howard's uncle seemed determined to make a scene."

"Crisis averted then," Peggy responded with voice subdued. The sudden awkwardness between them felt odd, somehow unnatural after the danger-laced closeness they'd shared. 

It was Angie who made the next move, leaning against Peggy's shoulder, her face hopeful. "Do you think I might hold you? I'm still feeling a little shook up."

Without comment, Peggy simply gathered the smaller woman to her, both of them clinging.

"I hate for the evening to be over," Angie murmured, not quite letting her lips brush Peggy's neck. Fighting a shiver, the older woman tightened her hug and nodded.

"I know what you mean. Would the Club be an acceptable alternative?"

"And how! I haven't been able to just patron the place. I'll do you proud."

"You already have."

For that, Angie stopped resisting pressing a kiss to the soft skin so close, making a note to rub away the faint smudge of color left there. 

At the Stork, the trio swept in like royalty, Angie drinking up the attention in a place safer than Howard's tense party. She picked out a handful the Griffith Girls moving among the patrons, despite it being Monday and a slow night. There was no Gloria, which disappointed her a bit, but at least she got to glower balefully at a smirking Dottie. There was seriously something off about that creep and Angie had had quite enough of that sort of bull for one day. With a bemused smile, Peggy allowed Angie to lead them over to the bar where Daniel fired them a look but was busy with another patron.

"Steve, do you drink?"

It was a random question, even for Angie, who had proven time and again to be a wild card. He quirked a brow at her, glanced briefly at a completely amused Peggy, and then shrugged. "Doesn't do much for me. Fast metabolism."

"To bad, I was gonna ask for a recommendation."

"I hear Daniel makes a mean martini."

"Yer a doll!"

Like magic, Daniel appeared with said martini in hand, clinking it down beside a whiskey sour Peggy sipped at appreciatively. "I'm hungry. That was a rather… tense meal and I'm quite certain that I wasn't the only one who didn't eat much."

"To rich for my belly anyway. I'm with you, hot stuff."

Angie was dimly beginning to suspect that the steady trickle of alcohol into her light frame was making her a bit silly. Thankfully, Daniel proved to be an astute bartender and Angie lit up as he thanked a fella bringing over a colorful platter tucked atop a basket.

"I hope this helps, ladies."

It took real effort for Angie not to squeal in happy excitement over the neatly arranged plate of thinly sliced cured meats and cheeses. There was even a small bowl of honest to god fresh mozzarella drizzled in olive oil. The basket was a gorgeous arrangement of breads, rolls and crackers. It all tasted as good as it looked and they ate in peace and sipped their drinks as the stressful evening faded away to memory. 

"There's someone I need to speak with, Angela," Peggy said after a bit and moved to shift away from the barstool she was half perched on. Halting her movement with a soft hand, Angie leaned over to press a small kiss to the corner of Peggy's red-lipped mouth.

"Hurry back. I don't think you need luck this time."

With a wry grin, Peggy moved away, ordering Steve to stay put.

"Ya hungry, Big Guy?" Angie teased him, crunching on a cheese-laden cracker with great delight. "You can have anything but that mozzarella. That, I'll stab you in the hand over."

His expression was priceless.

In the end, she managed to coax him into eating a bit, feeling very much like she was befriending a very dangerous dog who was desperate for affection. What a strange character he was! But she was also careful to not distract him overmuch and cause drama. Peggy even lightly teased him when he looked guilty at the mouthful of bread and cheese she caught him with upon her return.

"Kitten, are you spoiling my most loyal minion?"

"Hey, everyone knows the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

That actually made Peggy chuckle warmly.

With good food and drink warming them, the two women naturally gravitated to the dance floor. More specifically, Peggy only playfully resisted Angie's shy tugging at her for a moment, the music a siren song to both of them. 

If there was any truth to bodies in dance being a glimpse to heating up the sheets, Peggy and Angie would one day burn one another alive. With sure hands and quick feet, Peggy kept up with Angie's lithe movements as they learned one another.

"You're quite the hoofer," Angie marveled, pressed tight to that powerful, curvy body. It felt so freeing to have a partner she was attracted to, the rush of sound and movement enhanced by the heat in her blood.

"I've an attraction to the finer things in life."

The purring compliment, all the richer for that exotic accent, made Angie blush fiercely. 

While Peggy certainly had few qualms about her preferences-- often flaunting them-- she did indeed understand discretion. Just as heated and curious as she was, Angie hadn't a peep of objection to being hauled off into the dark catacombs of the Stork Club to points unknown.

"Yer gonna get me lost, English," she giggled and was immediately distracted by a hard surface at her back, Peggy a hot, anxious weight against her. There was less holding back this time, the boldness of their bodies at dance making them eager and overheated. These kisses were new, open-mouthed and hungry with little finesse and plenty of want. Dizzy with all of the action going on from crown to toes, Angie held on for dear life and learned. Red-tipped nails flexed into Angie's back like a happy kitty, trailed lower to trace the upper swell of her fanny and earning a moaning squeak. Too caught up to listen to the inner voice of reason, Angie let go of the lapels on the snappy suit, buried her curious fingers in Peggy's rich, loose tresses.

That earned her the low, growling sound that would haunt her dreams.

"Bewitching thing," Peggy muttered against her lips, voice low and breathless from their kissing, and her hands bold on Angie's body. "You make me want to take advantage of you, despite the drink."

Snorting inelegantly, Angie chuckled on a breathless note and stole one more kiss. "Dunno that I'd be brave enough to be this daring without bein' a little corked."

"Oh, I think you underestimate yourself, darling. Brave is clearly not a failing of yours."

"Sweet-talker."

By the time they'd reluctantly parted and Angie woozily got through cleaning up and pouring herself into bed mostly naked, she was wracked with an anxiousness she only half understood. Groaning, she did her best to ignore the wound-up need in her body and eventually managed to drift off to sleep.

\----

The second week of Angie's association with the 4th Street Gang began on a far more relaxed note than the first one. Tuesday saw her awake before the rest of the house but content to laze about for a couple hours, just processing everything that had happened to her and letting her brain and stomach settle. By noon she'd showered and climbed back into the silk summery dress from yesterday to pad off to the common areas to scrounge for coffee. That brought around the others and launched off an animated discussion of 'what happens next' that was fueled by the good brew. 

A trip to the Griffith got Angie's things back in her possession and settled a nervous, jumpy part of her soul. Yes, they were only things, but they were a link to what she had been before all this chaos and she needed that. Besides, the trip also allowed her to track Gloria down and set up a lunch date, because, frankly, Angie could use all the friends she could get.

Loraine was fine with letting Angie rifle several of the locked storerooms to make her odd little apartment more livable and to get some ideas for another big night in the spotlight. After helping her move some small pieces of furniture, Sam was happy to plunk himself in front of the upright piano in what was clearly some sort of rehearsal room and help get Angie's mind onto performing again. He was a magnificent musician with a strong singing voice and a good eye for movement. With Angie's ability to pick up a tune or basic dance move in just a few repetitions, they made a fabulous duo.

That night she happily locked herself away in her room to get settled in, listening to the muffled sound of the band and imagining she could hear the murmur of the crowd. Two more nights and she would once again stand before the sea of suits and gowns and pour out all the pent up energy inside her.

Two more nights.

Rehearsals went well, Angie practicing her dance steps when Sam had to allocate his time to some of the other artists in the building. It turned out that there were few singers, as the club wasn't known for them. There were a mess of musicians however, and Angie loved listening to the band play. Most of their work was low-key and melodious, meant for dancing couples and encouraging conversation. That said, the few Angie struck up conversations with seemed thrilled with the idea of a main act and a chance to try out new things. 

Next week she would be more adventurous. For now she would stick to a similar routine as her debut to ensure the performance butterflies were stamped out. Even at her most ambitious, Angie knew easing into the performing was the best route to take.

When Wednesday night rolled around, she just couldn't dredge up the energy to dress up and circulate amidst the finery.

"Leave them wondering," she intoned haughtily, waving a negligent hand with theatrical disdain. The act fell flat though, Angie's tension evident in the nervous tic of playing with the string of pearls that she habitually wore every day. The organic smoothness of the small spheres, the way they held the warmth of her body, the memories of Peggy's eyes as she took in the sheen of the small rounds against her pale skin; all of that played through Angie's mind as she stroked and fiddled with the fine necklace.

"Sure thing, yer highness," Sam teased and sketched an exaggerated bow. Bouncing to her feet and leaving off the pearls, Angie strutted about like some period duchess from the pictures while her pal laughed and laughed. Finally though, she fell into a pout, arms crossed.

"Still, I don't want to hang out in my room again."

Pensive suddenly, Sam hesitated for a moment before coming to a decision. "C'mon. I have the perfect idea."

"Where are we goin'?"

"You'll see. We'll get you to live up to the bird part of that cute name the Boss gave you!"

Grumbling in faint embarrassment, Angie nonetheless followed him up a convoluted path of long forgotten marble steps and dusty hallways lined in heavy wooden doors, many of them still bearing tarnished brass nameplates. The bobbing of Sam's electric torch made everything seemed spookified and she stuck close.

"Why doesn't anyone use these?"

Grinning over his shoulder at her, Sam shrugged. "Too far to walk and all the utilities have been shut off anyway. No water, no light, no gas. Back of house might be chaotic, but better 'n these old tombs."

The remnants of the club's former glory as a dignified bank did indeed have a tomblike feel. Finally they came to a service area that led out to a catwalk where they could perch like birds in the loftiest heights of the old bank. To distract herself from the long drop below where they lazed, Angie began quietly making up wild stories about the patrons until Sam snorted with laughter and covered his face to muffle the sound. Once they almost spilled the half-full thermos of coffee though, the pair calmed where they lay side by side to peer over the edge of the catwalk.

"It all looks like a movie from up here."

"Best view in the house."

"You ever go down there?"

Exasperated by her mouth for the umpteenth time, Angie was reassured by a quirk of smile from Sam. "No ma'am. Boss doesn't let coloreds on the floor. Not for the reasons you'd think, but to keep us safe by not giving anyone a target."

It was another interesting puzzle piece to the enigma that was Peggy Carter and her Howlies.

\----

Angie's second shot at stardom ended up being a letdown after the adrenaline-fueled rush of that first, frenzied night. It felt bizarrely anticlimactic, almost stilted and Angie couldn't understand it. She'd done fine, the audience had clapped, everything had sounded good… She couldn't be some sort of one hit wonder, could she?

She missed Peggy's dark stare like an anchor, missed the brooding, dangerous woman and her hot and cold attentions. Angie left her skin irritated as she tugged and torqued the pearls like a ship would its anchor chain.

"You were great, kid," Loraine reassured her backstage, helping with the wardrobe swap out. "Don't bust yourself up over it. The Boss isn't here nearly as often as any of us would like."

Feeling bristly all of the sudden, Angie self-consciously jerked her hand away from the necklace and snapped, "I don't care that she wasn't here."

The wry, exasperated look Loraine flashed her informed Angie she wasn't fooling anybody and all the waspish attitude deflated away. 

"Sure thing, Martinelli."

Too jittery and keyed up to sleep, Angie was relieved to find Sam puttering about and more than willing to join her at the practice piano.

But she didn't feel settled until Peggy suddenly framed herself in the doorway with her usual shadow, disheveled and slightly wild-eyed. The aggressive, relieved, annoyed energy pouring off of her was intoxicating, as were the rough kisses, bestowed with utter unselfconsciousness of their small audience of Sam and Steve.

"I'm sorry I was delayed, darling."

"Keep that up, English, and I'll forgive you anything."

Peggy's laughter was rich and warm.

\----

And so it went.

Long hours of rehearsals with the other creative types in the Stork and sleeping as the sun rose into the sky became the norm. One show a week turned into two with a side gig of backing up another singer on staff, because they had to stick together, right? There were lunches with Gloria and hanging out with Sam and giving Daniel a hard time until he finally broke and laughed at her antics. Loraine refused to soften, but Angie would swear up one side and down the other that she'd caught the hint of a smile once or twice. 

It was a dream come true.

The common themes in her life became the thrill of performance… and Peggy.

Sometimes it would be stolen kisses, Peggy's bold hands teaching Angie all manner of things about herself she'd never been comfortable enough to explore. Sometimes, it was an outing for a bite to eat-- neither or them spoke of the disastrous dinner date uptown-- or to a Mob event of one stripe or another. Angie poured on the charm and stuck close to Peggy's side as much to be a good moll as for her own safety. These were not the sorts of men accustomed to being denied and far too many of them left her feeling shaky. Steve the big, quiet guard dog, was a source of comfort, for there weren't many who could hold those merciless blue eyes. That he still seemed sweetly baffled by Angie amused her to no end. Though she left him alone when they were on the clock, because the prickly sense of danger was never far away.

It was a random Monday night at the club and for some odd reason, Peggy and Howard were pouring over a blizzard of papers at their usual table. It was hours before opening and they looked almost out of place at the stripped table, both them sans jackets and their sleeves rolled up, ties tucked away between shirt buttons. There was no point in denying Angie loved the look on her gal, that stirred cocktail of masculine and feminine, the glistening white of silky fabric in contrast to that rich skin and dark hair… and those red lips she wanted to kiss endlessly.

When the siblings burst into gales of laughter and pushed back from the papers for a smoke break, Angie left off of her nearby dithering in the lull between sets with the band to approach the table they held court over. She smiled almost shyly as she toyed with the pearls as always around her neck, and hoped her eyes told all the words she could never manage to say.

"Hey ya, Songbird!" Howard crowed, standing to stretch like a cat and give her a whiskery kiss in the expressive little crease that ran from lip to nose. "You gals stay put. Our guest oughta be here any minute."

Peggy made a faint noise of acknowledgement, far more interested in her girl close enough to touch. It was still miraculous to Angie, how free they could be in their affections as though they were just any couple. It made her giddy every time.

"Your mood is positively infectious, darling," Peggy murmured intimately as Angie went seamlessly from shy to draping herself imperiously all over her while she had the chance. "You'll give a girl ideas."

"Oh, dry up, English," she teased back, using the affectionate nickname the Mobster allowed in their private moments. They were allowed a couple minutes of cuddling before approaching voices made Angie sigh and pull away. She was faintly startled when Peggy stopped her retreat. There was something vulnerable in the entreaty on her face.

"When things settle again, what do you say to a night on the town, darling?"

And despite their outings always fraught with strain and danger, Angie found herself grinning lovingly. "You got it, gorgeous." Leaning in close, Angie stole a selfish moment to kiss Peggy lingeringly. "For luck," she murmured against that red-painted mouth before removing herself from the table. 

The moment she glanced over to the trio of men with Howard, she was damn glad she'd retreated. It was creepy Uncle Grady. She was so alarmed by him that she made the mistake of discounting the pair of thugs shadowing him.

As did Peggy and Howard.

But there was something in the way they looked around the empty club-- something calculating-- that brought Angie's hackles up. Soon her instincts were howling louder than her fear of the older man's covetous eyes and she approached the table quietly and without dramatics. Caught up in the papers, Peggy barely noted Angie's small weight leaning against her, half draped across her shoulders. Howard only smirked and continued yammering on about whatever the intricate plans were that had them so caught up.

Shaken, Angie pressed her nose into the waves of brunette hair, soaked up Peggy's scent and heat for a moment to bolster herself. She could do this, she could!

"The guards are up to something," she whispered almost soundlessly against Peggy's ear, feeling that jolt of menace through the powerful body. Without moving her head, Peggy acknowledged the tip with a strong squeeze to Angie's knee, below the edge of the table.

"Not now, Kitten," Peggy said with feigned distraction, but her eyes were alert and somber as she gently pressed the smaller woman away. "Now, don't pout so, I'll get to you soon enough. Go on."

It was so hard to walk away, even with the explicit order and an affectionate swat to the backside. Halfway to the bandstand, Angie paused to half turn and regard this enigma she loved despite herself. Surrounded by such blatant danger, Peggy still held court like a queen and radiated all the menace of a coiled rattlesnake. It was a tableau that Angie would never forget, the lines of Peggy's body in the fitted slacks and shirt, cigarillo dangling from her right hand, pointing at the papers even as her attention was on the looming thugs.

It would not sink in until much, much later… that exact moment was the beginning of the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *- newspapers.


	4. Chapter 4

If only New York wasn't so far away  
I promise the city won't get in our way  
When you're scared and alone,  
Just know that I'm already home  
-'Already Home' by A Great Big World

It had been a whirlwind of an affair; a breathless romp of fear and pleasure that left her dizzily intoxicated. From deprivation and a constant flow of stifling rules and too often hearing 'no', Angie was let loose into performing and finery and parties and wild friends and illicit embraces and drugging kisses. So she soaked up every moment of it, forever aware of how tenuous it all was.

It couldn't last, her place in a lifestyle to reminiscent of a volatile Molotov cocktail just waiting for a lick of flame.

A flame…

She still dreamt of her final triumphant exit from the stage. Her segments had grown better with practice and she was making quite an impression on the glamorous crowd, so rough hands grabbing her was something she had begun to grow accustomed to. But she had never expected her assailant to be Steve himself. Nor could she have imagined the stony, devastated expression on his face, the tears in his eyes. Someone bound and gagged her and she was unceremoniously tossed over his shoulder. 

Her muffled objections echoed in her memories, the feel of his powerful shoulder and her thrashing muscles burned into her bones. 

Something had gone terribly, horribly wrong.

She would forever remember the mixed smells of a well-maintained car, the stink of fearful sweat, and the traces of comfort that were her own things. She would forever remember the feel of her bruised belly from Steve's shoulder, the soft padding and hard edges of the surface she was dumped onto, the warm, muscled body against her rear end that she braced herself against even as the car roared to life. She would forever remember the bindings pulled away, the shock of the streetlamp flickering over the car, illuminating Sam's face, too serious and too grim for the sunny, talented man; the gleam of the machine gun clenched in those sensitive musician's hands…

She still dreamt of the crackle of gunfire like the burst of fireworks over New York on New Year's, of the screams and terror that clawed at her throat as the car screeched around the corner and its heavy body shuddered with the impact of bullets. She would forever be haunted by the face of the Griffith lit up with the orange flashbulb of an exploding car sending malevolent fire in all directions, buildings and cars and people torched by the greedy flames. The muffled roar that made the car shimmy alarmingly and the sky lit all the colors of hell lingered endlessly in her dreams. 

In that moment-- watching the smoke and fire engulfing her familiar old neighborhoods fall away as they made their escape-- Angie realized it was farewell. There would be no turning back; no more rehearsals with the lovely lunatics at the Stork Club, no more lunches with Gloria and the girls where they could glare at creepy Dottie, no more teasing Dugan about his silly mustache or Howard about his excesses. 

No more of Peggy's arrogant smiles, the touch of her hands on Angie's skin, the intoxicating kisses….

She'd only cried out once, hands pressed to the splintered glass, not feeling the pain, the tears, or the breath harsh in her lungs. But, in her dreams, the screams went on and on and on…

\----

New York and the bullet-riddled car were left behind, their jumble of personal things and an excessive amount of cash packed into a pair of steamer trunks. They cleaned up their appearances as best they could in order to blend in with the crowds aboard the train. Angie remembered little of it, only snatches of smells and sounds, the movement of the cars, nibbles of food and drink when her belly grew more urgent than her shattered emotions, sleeping upright against Steve's side. He and Sam and Edwin and the light touch on the pearls around her throat were her only anchor in the pain and numbness like a silent, unending scream. 

It was no triumphant entry into the glamorous, sun soaked embrace of Los Angeles, for they arrived with a whimper and not a bang.

The Sunshine Hotel became home. After a few days in numbed quiet with the four of them packed together in too small a space, Edwin pulled himself together enough to approach the staff about better accommodations. Turned out, there was a little apartment set back behind the excess of greenery around the pool. It was perfect. 

As the weeks dragged on, even Steve's dogged belief in Peggy began to flag. More and more, he grew to be a restless, snappy dog, terror and loss pouring off of him like heat. Eventually, something had to break. 

It started with a frayed thread.

The string of pearls draped just to the hollow of Angie's throat, milky and alive with a subtle iridescent glow against her creamy skin. They were a connection to the person she had become, a dividing line to the girl she had once been, not so long ago. They represented growth and love and pain and the stunning woman who had stolen her heart. The snap of the silk string-- a lone pearl skittering away as though determined to escape-- cut far more deeply than mere broken jewelry.

Cradling the broken strand, Angie was reeling and vulnerable, the cracks in her composure almost visible in her expression. Steve, never the same man he'd once been before the bullet to his skull, was too lost in his own fractured agonies, sneering and skulking about like a monster movie villain. 

They came together like a landslide into a mountain.

With no warning, Angie turned on Steve with all the fury of a trapped animal, fists clenched white as bone and the pearls grinding with a scrape of sound like pain. She boiled over with all the high emotion famed of her fiery ancestry and suddenly seemed twice her small size.

"Back _off_ , Dracula," Angie screamed like a madwoman, buzzing high as a zeppelin on adrenaline and too many days of too little sleep and sustenance. Iced tea ran down Steve's face and chest, matting his shaggy hair to his skull. For a long moment, the situation was almost comical, and then Steve choked on his own temper and whirled away, intent on escape. Even damaged and furious enough to see red, he couldn't hurt her, for she was the only anchor he had left.

Suffused with rage and loss, Angie jumped on his back in a shrieking, catlike fury; yanking him off balance, legs clamped around his waist, vicious little hands fisted in his shirt and hair. Letting it out was agony, a hot shaft of pain to an infected wound, everything bleeding out. And yet… some part of Angie knew that she had to hang on. Not because she was angry, but because she could not let Steve go. If she let him go now, he might never come back. And everyone knew Steve was no longer capable of being alone.

Shocked by her physical violence, Steve flailed about, dancing like a trained monkey until something broke loose inside him, dropping him like a marionette with his strings cut. Wailing with grief, he clung to Angie, her rage instantly forgotten as she cradled his head to her body and cried with him. It could have moments or hours before at last, Steve dropped unconscious, his last reserves spent. Only then did Sam approach, unable to ignore Angie's weary, pained groan as she leaned over to press her forehead to Steve's back.

"You okay?"

"No, not really," she said equally quietly, hissing and accepting a hand to sit up again. Exhausted to her bones, to the depths of her soul, she stared quietly at the pearls, now cradled loosely in her hand. They were scratched now, scarred like all of them, but they were still beautiful and glowed with something almost alive. Where that sore hand lay open on Steve's back, she drank up the steady rise and fall of his breath, the heat of his skin through his shirt, torn now from her earlier explosion of violence.

Something visceral had shifted in the catharsis of violence and tears.

"This floor is lousy to sit on for a long time and both legs are numb," Angie said quietly and calmly. Her tear-ravaged face was still blotchy from the emotional storm when she looked up at Sam, hovering near. "Think you could muscle him into bed?"

Steve was dead weight, face pressed to her belly. Sam shrugged and flashed her a tiny, solemn smile wreathed in an understanding Angie hadn't even realized how heavily she had been relying on for so long now.

"No, probably not, but I can sure get him rolled over. Hang on."

Like a sack of meat, Steve thudded onto his back and lay there, breathing slow and strong. Groaning, Angie twisted around to sprawl as well, resting her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arm around his head. The divot in his skull fit the nose she pressed into his damp hair. "I haven't been takin' good care of him, Sam."

Pausing in rearranging Steve's limbs, Sam scooted over to pet her hair like a cat. "It was never supposed to be your job, Angie."

"Lotta things weren't supposed to be my job. Lotta things weren't supposed to happen, but here we are. Someone has to do it and it's easier for him, I think. He didn't have to think or feel or do past what…. she… once told him to do. I'll have to be that person for him now."

Not wanting her words to be harsh, Angie rolled her head over and offered up her hand to be cradled in Sam's sensitive musician's fingers, the pearls creamy contrast to both their skins.

"My pearls broke. Luckily, they're knotted, but one went flyin' and I don't know where it went."

Sam understood that they were talking about more than pearls in that moment, Angie's eyes wide and vulnerable in her face. He was starkly reminded just how young this girl was, just how much she had been through in such a short period of time. Very gently, he smiled and closed her hand around the broken strand.

"Tell you what, pal. I'll sit here with you until Ed gets back and we'll get Steve into bed. Then we're gonna find that missing pearl, okay? Later, Ed can take you to a jeweler to get the whole thing restrung, good as new."

It was the right thing to say and she noticeably relaxed. "It's never gonna be the same, is it, Sam?"

His heart broke all over again for her, this sensitive young thing he had come to love like a sister. "No, it's never gonna be the same, sweetheart."

It was a turning point. Once Edwin came back and gave Sam a hand muscling Steve's bulk into the bed, Angie asked for a few errands from them before curling into Steve's side to sleep. By the time he woke, it was nearly dark and he groaned while grabbing his clearly aching skull. Enveloped in her new calm, Angie folded up the newspaper she'd been scouring.

"Steve."

Bloodshot blue eyes stared almost uncomprehendingly at her, making Angie wonder if it was just the bullet to the head that turned such a clearly intelligent fella into something so broken and animal-like. 

"So, it's good that we got that out of our systems. Now, I want you to go shower and take your time about it. There's some clothes in there for you. Then we'll get some dinner and the four of us will discuss what comes next."

There was no entreaty in Angie's tone, merely a calm demand that left Steve opening and closing his mouth a few times. Finally though, his furrowed brow smoothed into something that looked distinctly like relief and he slowly sat up before standing on shaky legs. When he paused, those expressive eyes conflicted, Angie took a guess and gestured him closer. When he shuffled over like a child expecting a scolding, she tugged his shirt until he leaned over and gave him a firm, quick kiss.

"Go clean up."

Every inch confused and relieved, he simply obeyed.

Still wrapped in her strange calm, Angie drifted into the living space and took up the head of the table and waited there in dignified silence. Edwin and Sam respected the shift in emotional currents, content to hear for themselves exactly what had changed. Steve finally wandered out, handsome in white linen pants and matching canvas shoes, the thin tropical shirt almost cheerful with his good looks. Then he noticed the shirt's fabric was an exact match to Angie's light sundress and he stopped in his tracks, eyes huge in his face.

Satisfied that she was right, Angie gestured to the seat beside her, opposite where Sam had been quietly sitting with her. It had taken some searching through painful memories, but Angie realized that Steve had always worn an article of clothing to match Peggy. It was reassurance of belonging that she could give the big man.

Over fruit salad and cold chicken and a light white wine, the four hesitantly began to plan for a future they had not been able to fully realize until the tumultuous day.

\----

Watching the jeweler's nimble hands disassemble the pearls she'd worn nearly every waking hour was almost physically painful for Angie. But not wearing them at all was much worse. Bits of silk thread were snipped away, each tiny globe examined and gently polished until it shone before being carefully nestled in meticulous order in a cushioned trough. Then the man tapped out the orphan from the soft bag it had been stored in and he quickly examined and cleaned it as well before moving to set it back in its place.

A sudden inspiration seized Angie and she jerked her gaze over to where Steve sat quietly at her side, idly alert to their surroundings.

"Wait," she spoke up and the jeweler blinked owlishly at her. "That pearl, the one in your hand. Is it still in good shape?"

"Yes ma'am. It seems fine."

"Good. I would like you to make me a separate piece of jewelry with that pearl."

Not missing a beat, the man nodded and his hand moved away from the other pearls. "Of course, ma'am. Was there something in particular that you would like done with it? Perhaps a lovely broach or a lone piece to wear as a necklace for variety?"

"Yes, a necklace. But not for me. For him."

The jeweler was taken aback, but Angie did not notice, as she looked over to hold Steve's startled gaze.

"Even better, pick a couple of complimentary mates for the one, won't you? I'd hate for the one to be alone."

And so they came to match in a new way, Steve with his three gifted pearls strung onto a length of fine, tightly braided cord of brown leather and Angie with her beloved necklace neatly restrung and the missing length carefully replaced with the same leather cording. Steve fiddled with his heartfelt gift as much as Angie did hers, a silent bond between them.

\----

Auditions became a fascinating experience with the new bonds of calm and unity between the blue-eyes. 

The meatheads that were interested in testing Angie out on the casting couch were stymied by her flat, unemotional stare. Some of them were even frightened, which was a positive in Angie's book. If she could save another girl from these predatory jerks, the world would be a better place. One guy didn't take the hint as the refusal and she winced at the sound of breaking fingers when Steve seemed to materialize out of nowhere to stop him. But that one leering piece of filth that actually grabbed her and threw her over the desk, clearly intent on taking what he wanted? Yeah, he barely grunted when Steve kicked down the door and punched him in the throat hard enough to silence the big bull. By the limpness of his disgusting carcass when Steve and Sam dragged him away, Angie doubted he'd ever attack anyone ever again.

They all took a week off after that.

\----

In time, the urgency of the memories began to fade and scar over. Angie still dreamed of course, still sharply felt the fragments of touch bold on her body, still flinched at certain shades of red, still found herself startling at the distinct shape and shade of curvaceous brunette women that drifted through her isolated life. But the urgency of the loss began to fade into emotional scars.

She won an audition and fell in with two other women to sing jingles and catchy tunes for a local radio program. It was silly-- because they were flush with more cash than she could get her head around even now-- but Angie still felt a sense of deep satisfaction the first time she was handed a crisp check for her work.

"Figures I had to leave New York to make it in entertainment," she scoffed and Jane laughed her bright, tinkling laugh that Hollywood had yet to darken. Virginia huffed in her jaded way, the cloud to Jane's sunshine; Angie falling in the brightness and shadows between. "You gals want to swing past the L&L tonight? Mora's singing tonight and you know how good she is."

Jane begged off as usual to rush home to her beloved boyfriend-- the adorable sap-- but Virginia made noises of maybe and stalked off in a cloud of cigarette smoke. Both of them were the first people Angie had started to connect with in her new town and she found they were good for her in different ways. Slowly, she was beginning to come back to life.

Chatting with Jane as they walked out of the studio, the young women said farewell and went their separate ways as Steve jumped up from his usual bench where he had been exiled to when hovering too much in the studio. Today's random stranger, intrigued by the odd handsome man that waited for long hours like a loyal dog, was a scruffy, tired-looking fella with kind eyes. As Steve seemed actively uncomfortable, nearly hiding behind Angie-- and wasn't that a kick in the pants with her not even half his mass-- she was guessing the stranger had actually gotten under Steve's skin. She knew the behaviors well by now, how he would become more animalistic-- even childlike-- on his bad days when his damaged mind couldn't make sense of the world around him. Patience and a soft touch and endless mutual loyalty kept them both sane. 

The strange man stood but didn't approach, so Angie took it on herself to step over and offer a hand. "Hey, mac, thanks for keepin' the big dog company. Angie Margaret and this is Steve Wilson."

Angie had taken Peggy's ill-fitting real name while Sam and Steve just switched to keep things simple. The stranger's hand was calloused and cool in the constant heat of LA and she noted he didn't feel the immature need to crush her hand or hold it as though she were a fragile piece of glass. A point in his favor.

Steve made a faintly disgruntled noise about being teased but remained at her back and the scruffy stranger grinned. There was something familiar and almost comforting in the shadows of violence in his dark eyes. It was a startling contrast to the kindness and curiosity so obvious in him. "Bruce Banner. I recognize a fellow sufferer. Sorry if I made anyone uncomfortable."

Angie glanced back to see Steve half discomfited and half fascinated and reached up to pat him on the cheek. "He's a survivor of a different sort of war."

Knowing he'd been spotted as a veteran of the Great War, Banner ran a hand through unkempt, too-long hair and nodded in as much understanding as he could glean. "I thought he seemed a bit young. Violence can find us anywhere, I get that." It was too true, the memories of bullets and explosions and the stink of fire too close to all of them for a long moment. Banner shook it off first, his smile wry. "Well, good to meet both of you. If I see you around, I'll say hi."

Watching the man leave, Angie grinned at her big shadow and once more patted his cheek. "Aww, you made a friend. Come on, I'm starved and need a drink."

\----

It was Bruce that was instrumental in finding them their own place; first by suggesting they get away from the city proper and pointing them west. 

Long Beach seemed too far removed from Los Angeles proper and the irregular work Angie would find for radio, the ugly forests of oil rigs they drove past not endearing the place to them at all. But then they saw the orderly neighborhoods and bustling shopping and busy port. The crescent of sparkling white sand stretched in a grand arc into the hazy afternoon and they admired the great wooden rollercoaster that sprawled out over the sand and waves.

"Reminds me of home," Angie quipped and it was Steve's delighted laugh that sold her on the idea of this sunny, crowded place.

"It ain't Coney Island, but I'll take it!"

After slogging through a blur of properties that just didn't work, the quartet were feeling frustrated and disheartened, but they kept at it. Then they got a phone call from Bruce and rallied to go check it out.

"Look, Angie," Steve chimed up and roused her from her half-doze. "It's a swamp. Keen."

Sure enough, the road skimmed along the swampy-looking marsh of scrubby plants and water that was alive with birds. The swamp stretched away, peppered here and there with roads and a few buildings and oil towers before it became the haze of the Pacific Ocean beyond.

"And the ocean's really close."

"I do miss the water," Steve said wistfully and Angie patted his knee.

"Then let's hope this is the place."

The road veered away from the marsh to accommodate a massive brick and concrete wall that looked like the first defense of an Army fort. There were some cracks and even a big chunk fallen to the dry earth from what the New Yorkers would bet was the earthquake a couple years back the locals endlessly jawed on about. Still, as they parked beside the ugly, damaged wall and the 'for sale' sign at the driveway, it did look like it could be secure. 

Behind a pair of wrought-iron gates-- one for people and one for cars-- lay a squat, sprawling, ugly house with bizarrely thick walls coated in a sandpaper texture and painted white. Curved terracotta tiles made a striking roof and there was an honest-to-god palm tree looming over the structure like some sort of cartoon creature. Trading skeptical looks, the quartet shooed off the real estate agent and trooped onto the property. A lake of concrete and big terracotta tiles defined a massive area to the front, while the rest was scrubby, tough plants and the most pitiful, half-dead grass a person could imagine. The tiles marched right into the sprawling house and over every square inch of floor before heading right out the back door and a patio nearly the size of the one out front.

"Is that a pool?" Sam asked in wonder and they all wandered out to marvel at the huge concrete depression in the earth. It lay empty and cracked, but they all grinned at the possibilities it represented. Inside was a clutter of so many rooms it was nearly overwhelming, particularly for a bunch of New Yorkers who had only ever known cramped housing. There were bathrooms all over and a washtub had its own room with a courtyard ready to be restrung with drying lines. There was a hot tub that would need replacing and an honest-to-Abe two car garage and a kitchen that was in terrific shape even with dated appliances and no good place for a modern refrigerator.

It was as foreign to them as the surface of the Moon, but all the hard, heavy surfaces radiated a soothing coolness and the wooden shutters on every window would shield them from sun and storm. There was only one neighbor to their south, a slender old man eyeing them with open curiosity, and the road and marsh bracketed in the other three sides beyond the ugly wall. 

It was sprawling and spacious and offered them all the freedom of both privacy and togetherness. It was a strangely beautiful ugly and so very, very Los Angeles. 

The papers were signed that afternoon, cash paid for the low-priced property, left empty since the earthquake, and tradesmen were immediately commissioned for repairs and upgrades. In two weeks, they delighted in the oddball space in what was now a real home. The place could have accommodated three times their numbers if they were a bit friendly, but the strange little family closed off the empty parts of the house and tried to live beyond all they left behind.

\----

Strangely, the seedy side of Los Angeles seemed to be ignoring them, despite their continued persistence in poking around the entertainment industry. Edwin had managed to obtain fake IDs for all of them within a month of their arrival and there also remained a remarkable lack of the feeling of prying eyes. None of them pressured him the couple times he came home with a black eye or split lip, holding his ribs. The prickly Englishman wasn't much of a talker anyway, though he could get downright chatty with some liquor in him. He enjoyed taking care of the lot of them, ensuring they ate regularly and had things to keep themselves occupied, even finding a lovely upright piano for Sam, who just about kissed him with sheer joy.

Sam was their rock, calm and easy-going with the bright touch of music to him that calmed even Steve. He was a talker too, which took the edge off of the quiet after so much time living at the noisy hotel. With the piano and the radio in the living room playing near-constantly, he and Angie passed much of their time recreating music as well as crafting their own. 

Slowly, summer drifted into fall, the skies beginning to show iron-colored clouds and cooler temperatures. Even the displaced New Yorkers found themselves chilled by days that wouldn't have even registered before. 

It had been nearly five months.

There'd been a break in the recent rain and the windows facing the nearby Pacific Ocean let in a lovely breeze. Sam and Steve's voices rose and fell with snatches of conversation and a bit of laughter. It was a comfort to Angie, a sense of home. 

A sharp knock on the door startled her and she dropped the spoon she'd been poking at a massive pot of marinara sauce with. Try as she might, making a small pot of the stuff was just impossible. Their canned supplies were running low anyway.

"Sam! Steve!"

They came trotting in, looking sweaty and happy. 

"Door."

Palming the gun he was rarely without, Steve peered through the window curtains facing the street and made a startled sound. To the astonishment of his friends, he set the pistol down… and yanked open the door.

Amidst the murmur of voices, one rang out, thick with relief. "Steve!"

Belly clenching and heart racing in shock, Angie didn't even realize that she'd moved to stand beside Steve to stare in disbelief.

The past had found them.

Gloria was visibly ready to cry, hands clenched at her mouth; behind her ranged a random cross section of the people they'd left behind in New York. "You're a tough group to find," she said thickly and held up a silencing hand. "You're gonna want to do this inside. C'mon."

Six of them carried a big canvas tarp that contained something lumpy and heavy. Gloria's gesture had the clutter of men and women moving and some pragmatic part of Angie's brain that wasn't locked up in shock noted them; Carol and Sarah, Gabe, Junior and Happy with Daniel hobbling along behind them. Angie startled when Gloria touched her arm and she in turn clutched at Steve, wrapping her hands around his like an anchor. It took a moment for him to move at her gentle tug, his blue eyes huge in his face, pupils alarmed pinpricks.

"C'mon, Big Guy. No matter what happens, you got me, huh?"

It was so very hard not to hope, but Angie had always leaned towards the positive and that welled up inside her again. It shone in her eyes, bolstered Steve into nodding jerkily and he followed her just as he'd become accustomed to. Edwin and Sam were silent sentinels in the living room where the newly arrived refugees came to rest. Ever so gently, the six lowered the tarp and flicked back the edges to the sound of Angie's gasp and a low, animal sound from Steve. 

Laid out on the thick rug was a very limp Peggy Carter. For an insane moment, Angie almost thought she was dead and this was some sick nightmare, but then she noticed the pink scarring of a burn on Peggy's cheek, the heavy braces on both of her legs, the movement of deep, slow breaths.

"We had to keep her doped up pretty heavily to make the move," Daniel was explaining. "All the way from Jersey. We're all sorry it took so long."

Angie barely heard him, staring in shock at the woman unconscious at her feet. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to look at the others, the beloved faces she'd assumed dead or gone forever. "Can…" her voice broke spectacularly, making her tight throat hurt. "Can you move her to the bed?"

Grunting with the effort, the group did as they were asked, Angie dragging a bamboozled Steve along to direct them. Peggy in the huge bed she'd been sharing with Steve for ages now cracked Angie's self-control and tears welled up on a choked breath. This was not the powerful woman they had left behind, for she was unrecognizable as her vivacious self.

Angie couldn't care less.

Without a word, she toed off her shoes and climbed into the bed, tugging at Steve to do the same, to curl tight to her back where he trembled and clung to her. The others left them alone, but the door stayed open for the sounds of life to filter down the hall. It was a subtle affirmation that this was not some sort of fever dream. With a shaking hand, Angie stroked Peggy's proud features, the full mouth that had brought her such pleasures. The once lush, rich hair was shorter than she remembered, limp and in need of some real care, Peggy's warmly tinted skin pale and wan. The lemon-sized patch of burn scar along her right cheek looked like something on fire had hit her, leaving striations cut into her flesh. The reality of those leg braces was not something Angie was prepared to face just yet, particularly not without as much information as she could get.

Smoothing a hand down Peggy's belly, she could feel that much of the woman's muscle mass was gone, wasted away by what had clearly been a grueling recovery. 

"Is… she okay?" Steve whispered almost silently, his tone so much like a lost little boy's that Angie's tears welled up once more.

"Well, she's breathing and that's more than we hoped for this morning, right?"

Oftentimes honesty was a better policy than kindness with this scarred man and, sure enough, he brightened a bit, his body relaxing against hers. One big, shaky hand reached out to half cover hers, both of them soaking up Peggy's living warmth.

\----

They must have all dozed off, for the sudden writhe of violence against Angie's front side woke her with a start. If not for the notable body weakness, Peggy might have broken bones. As it was, there would be bruises left behind. The older woman was crying out like a trapped animal, sweating and clearly disoriented. In a mere moment, Gloria appeared, radiating calm.

"Hey now, Trouble, none of that."

Angie watched in mute, horrified fascination as the working girl pulled out a vicious looking needle attached to a steel cylinder with a plunger. In a few practiced moves, she pressed Peggy's torso to Angie, there was the sharp scent of rubbing alcohol and the needle descended. Only moments later, the change was easily apparent in Peggy's relaxing body, the shakes lessening, her breathing evening out.

"Forgotten how it felt, huh? Don't sweat it, we'll get you back off this horse soon enough," Gloria teased gently as she stood, patting Peggy's hip. "She'll be good for another handful of hours. It's a low dose and will only take the edge off, but it will keep her at ease for a couple more days. Then the fun starts."

By the wry tone, that would be anything but fun.

"It's all right, I'm old hat at this. We had a girl in house, before I fell in with Fry, that was addicted to the stuff. And the boss here is on a lot less, and how."

The weak moan was a sound Angie had never expected to hear from her powerful beau. "An… Angel?"

Angie hadn't realized how much she missed the affectionate nickname-- once used by her beloved Nana and now by this broken woman-- and she fought down hysterical tears. Looking into the glazed brown eyes, she did her best to smile bravely, watching as the unfocused gaze flickered over her shoulder where a very tense guard dog watched over them in silence.

"Ste…ve?"

His breath caught sharply, but there was no other reaction. Carefully settling Peggy onto her back once again, all four of them winced at the choked groan of pain.

"She can be moved," Gloria said softly. "Just be careful of those legs. Now that we sprang her away from those quacks, we can work on getting her walking again. Holler if you need me."

Angie reached out to wordlessly squeeze her friend's wrist in thanks. Pressing her lips to Peggy's cool forehead, she soaked up her presence, the feeling of safety brought on by the intimidating pair of Mobsters, no matter how they had met. Trailing little kisses over nose and brows, Angie spoke in a whisper-soft voice. "Hey, gorgeous, I'm really glad to see you. We'd given up, you know, figured you'd gone the way of the dinosaurs. Glad we were wrong. Steve here's been great company, loyal and dedicated once we figured each other out. Sam and Ed too. And now you're back, like a wounded warrior, you big dope."

"I've missed you," Peggy rasped hoarsely and she grabbed weakly at Angie's sleeve. "Both of you. Never thought I'd get to tell you how much… you mean to me."

It felt to the trio as though an eternity passed while they simply breathed together. It bothered Angie how slow, almost labored, Peggy's breathing was, with a faint rattle on each inhale. The weak cough hardly surprised her. Squirming around made both Mobsters protest, but Steve let up when he realized that Angie was rolling Peggy's body between theirs. Almost instantly she shivered sharply and lay more easily with their warmth soaking the notable chill from her skin. Steve remained stiff and nervous, his paradigm once more shifting like sand through his fingers.

"Hey, Big Dog," Angie murmured and reached up to card her fingertips through his hair and tug at the necklace she'd gifted him. "You just lay here and be big and warm and we'll figure out everything together, the three of us. Kapeesh?" 

A lingering kiss on the bony ridge between his closed eyes brought more calm to the big man and he nodded and snuggled in, wrapping long arms around both women. In the quiet, Peggy's words were slow, but meaningful.

"I'm glad that the two of you had one another. I'm so sorry for what I put you through, both this and everything else. So sorry…"

Still in shock over suddenly having her close, Angie remained silent, pressed close to the reality of Peggy's shape.

"I'd forgotten how that sort of fear felt, the sucking drain of it, until I wasn't certain that you two had made it away. Until I wasn't sure that I would survive…"

"Looks like you almost didn't," Angie finally found her voice again, spurred on by her tart humor, and flicked her eyes downward meaningfully.

"Some bastard had the nerve to drive a burning car into the building I was using for cover. I'm afraid the building took its disagreement out by falling on me."

The dry comment was so… Peggy that Angie found herself chuckling wetly, once more pressing kisses to the dramatic face. "Well that's what you get for not coming by for your good luck kiss. You'll know better next time."

"Your kisses I have missed desperately, but I'd rather no more 'next times'. I've lost too much."

Completely consumed with relief and affection, Angie lightly kissed Peggy's chapped lips. "Ready for something new, Boss?"

"Yes. A hundred times, yes. A boring life in the sun sounds like a heaven I don't deserve. And I've little desire to be the boss any longer."

The moment Angie laid eyes on the broken figure that had once been her powerful lover, she'd known that the changes wrought were huge. In the almost meek strength of this new incarnation of Margaret Carter, she was beginning to see just how different she truly was.

"You've changed."

"I have. For months I fought and railed and cursed what had happened to me, this horrid weakness of body and the loss of everything I thought I was. But being laid low calmed something in me, a hunger-- for lack of a better word-- I have never been able to sate. Suddenly, just being alive was enough. Then Loraine found me just a few weeks ago and the whole rag-tag gang of survivors spirited me away. They didn't hate me for what I had been, for the trouble I had brought to them, and they didn't take advantage of my weakness. That is not something that I'm accustomed to. To trust and kindness. To go back to what I had been, even if I were physically capable, would be misusing that trust."

The speech had clearly exhausted her, but Peggy only lay still until her breathing eased before twisting to pet Steve's face. In that touch, a tension he'd carried for five months fell away, those summer-sky eyes huge in his face.

"Can you forgive me, darling, for being so awful to you? I hadn't realized…"

"But I like belonging to you, to both of you," he protested vehemently, looking stricken. Tugging him down into a soft kiss, Peggy soothed him.

"I know, sweet man. Do you think I might belong to you too? To both of you?"

Together their kisses and touches settled something broken in all of them. Peggy traced the string of pearls she'd gifted Angie and the complimentary necklace around Steve's strong throat. There were tears of understanding in her dark eyes and squeezed them close to breathe in the smell of them both.

"It won't be easy, my darlings. I can't even walk; though I suspect that Daniel might be right in that he seems convinced that I'm capable of at least some locomotion."

"We'll manage," Angie soothed and then flashed a giddy grin at Steve and had to tease him a bit into more calm. "Told ya the crazy lady loved ya." 

His shock at her sassy comment morphed into an affectionately wry look. The giggle that welled up in her throat was a welcome feeling.

"I do. Love you, that is. Both of you. The hope of finding you again kept me sane."

If the blue-eyes were too startled to return the sentiment, their hugs and kisses spoke volumes.

\----

When next they all woke, it was to oddly asymmetrical, shuffling steps. Daniel grinned at the pile of them and waved a friendly, open hand. "Just checking in and we were wondering if you'd like some dinner and company. Sorry about that pot of sauce, Songbird, but it smelled so good."

Having utterly forgotten the food, Angie barked out a hoarse laugh and waved off the apology. "I'll consider it down payment to having all you jerks back in my life. And bringin' this one back to me."

"Easy-peasy," he waved off the thanks, all of them knowing full well it was anything but. "Speaking of which, bet you're dying for the crapper, huh?"

Making a disgruntled sound, Peggy squirmed and nodded. "Yes, dammit. And a long, hot shower, impossible as that is."

"You haven't seen the shower here," Angie scoffed. "And you got the best nurse in the world now, right Steve?"

That made him brighten and nod. "I can do that."

Kissing Peggy's dry lips lingeringly, Angie breathed in the mixed scents of her and relished the feel of her living warmth. "As much as I hate to let you out of my sight, English, I'll go play hostess. Ya got any clean clothes?"

That caused some consternation, but Angie took control of the situation by heading for the enormous closet she'd already half filled with clothing of all shades and styles. She gathered up a couple pairs of Steve's silky underwear and thin pajama pants he favored to sleep in, along with a couple pairs of his warmest socks, but a sudden inspiration made her grin adoringly to herself. When she stepped into the bedroom, Steve had sat up, protectively cradling Peggy's body to his chest.

"Clean togs," she explained and set the pile on Peggy's belly. Then she held up a handful of beautifully intense blue cloth with a knowing smile. "Ed found me a huge bolt of this cotton and it's been a household favorite, as we all look good in it." The mass of blue fabric separated into three shirts, the pair of big men's shirts she added to the pile and shrugged into the small one that fit her frame. "There. Now we'll _all_ match. Welcome home."

Tears welled up again amidst the trio and it took a few caresses of love and reassurance before Angie stumbled down the hallway to the living room. Some part of her noted the small crowd that had taken over the space, but she instantly gravitated to the familiar steadiness of Sam. He grunted as she collapsed into him like an exhausted toddler to be held by strong arms for a long spell. For a moment, a discomfited quiet fell over the room, but conversation started back up again while Angie gathered her emotional strength. Groaning, she finally shifted enough to perch herself on Sam's knee, since there was no place to sit anyway, and gave him a weary, heartfelt grin.

"Thanks, Sam. You're the best."

"Hey, you're not alone in this, Angie. We'll all figure it out together."

Bolstered, she straightened her spine and looked around the room fully. Loraine had joined them, along with Molly from the Griffith, though they were dead asleep in a pile on the couch along with Happy.

"It's really strange and wonderful that you're all here, and I'm looking forward to the stories, but not tonight. Tonight we're together and let's just be happy with that."

They all nodded or raised a glass to that, the mood lifting notably. There was a whirlwind of welcoming hugs and handshakes before Ed pressed a bowl of pasta and sauce into Angie's hands and glowered for her to eat. She complimented him on the noodles and asked both he and Sam if they would humor her and change into their matching blues for Steve's sake. The sleeping dogpile woke up and left their spot for the missing pair to take over. Loraine was awkward with Angie's bear hug, but returned it anyway, no words needed between them. By the time the big guard dog appeared in mutual clean dampness with his charge, the atmosphere had taken on the tone of a quietly intimate party.

"There's the rest of us," Angie greeted them warmly and gratefully moved in to trade kisses and touches. "Glad my brain didn't make it up. Now park it, Big Dog, and let's get you both fed."

While Peggy ate sparingly, it was with gusto, and Steve happily wolfed down what she didn't, plus a refill of his own bowl. The former gang boss was nearly unrecognizable in her oversized men's clothing making her look like a child playing dress up, her unmade face showing the burn scar so vividly and hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. She seemed quietly content to lean against Sam with her ruined legs propped in Steve's lap for safekeeping. Gloria had finally gotten in a hug and was clearly reluctant to let Angie get very far away from her, not that the singer minded at all. Suddenly being surrounded by her friends was easing a tight ache she hadn't even acknowledged in a very long time.

The quartet of Griffith Girls were giggling near hysterically as Gloria tried to finish her story of charming the nosy neighbor, Mr. Leiber. "He reminded me so much of Howard's old Uncle Stan that I nearly stroked his mustache out of habit!"

It was too much for the call-girls and they dissolved into hilarity, their glee completely contagious to the rest of the group. Once they started to wind down, wiping at laughter-induced tears, Gloria spoke again, her tone wistful.

"I miss the harmless old letch." Clearing her throat against a choking emotion far different than laughter, Gloria looked down at her clenched hands and her voice was feather-soft. "I miss a lot of things."

Hugging her pal to her where the pair sat on an oversized cushion on the floor next to Peggy, Angie cleared her throat into the depressing silence. "A toast. To all we left behind."

Everybody grabbed a glass for that one and Steve suddenly got a faraway look in his eye before muttering out a stream of lyrical gibberish. All of them looked at him in curiosity, but it was Angie that spoke gently. "That was beautiful. What does it mean?"

Unaccustomed to and uncomfortable with the spotlight, he shrank away for a moment, but was reassured by Peggy's hand on his cheek encouraging him to lean over to press his face into her shoulder.

"Somethin' my dad used to say from the old country. He said it means, 'Remember that the darkest hour of all, is the hour before day.' "

That perked everyone up again.

"Yeah," Gabe said in his big, bass voice. "An' it'll be dawn inna few hours. We can start over for real now."

They were the galvanizing words they all needed to hear. Out of habit, all eyes came to rest on Peggy, still propped between Steve and Sam. "Not I. The expert now is my Angel. Would you take the lead, darling?"

Grasping the gentle hand on her shoulder, Angie swallowed hard and looked around at the cluster of eager faces. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense since me and fellas have been here the longest. We'll want somethin' that plays to our strengths, somethin that keeps the flatfoots from noticin' us. Particularly since some of us," her expression turned wry, "sound so New York."

The ripple of amusement relaxed everyone.

"We've still got a decent can of beans left from cleaning out the Club's coffers," Loraine chimed in. "Think we can get into some sort of entertainment without pissing off the local hoods?"

As the original four knew that Edwin was the unofficial local contact to the dirty underbelly of the city, they looked to him. Uncomfortable, but acknowledging the unspoken question, he shrugged. "I'll look into it."

They talked and talked about ideas until even the most indomitable among them were sagging with exhaustion. Finally, Angie roused herself and spoke up loudly enough to wake those that had dozed off.

"Okay, gang, it's nearly dawn and I'm callin' it. Sorry we're short on beds, but make yourself as comfy as you can."

"We're good, Songbird," Loraine yawned. "We'll pile all over Sam and Ed here and the rest can take over your couches. You lovebirds go rest."

In a flurry of hugs, the ragtag group affirmed their bonds quietly before dispersing where they would. Too exhausted to even brush her teeth, Angie toed off her shoes and collapsed ungracefully into the unmade bed. Only Steve pouring Peggy in next to her got her moving, squirming around to get the sheet and blanket settled over them. Naturally, the women gravitated together, bodies cuddling close, the warmth between them a soothing balm. Peggy's weak frame was bolstered by Steve's bulk slipping into the bed behind her, a thick arm draped over both of them. Angie pressed her lips to Peggy's forehead, reached over to curl her hand around the base of Steve's neck as anchor.

"Hey, warriors," she whispered. "Look. It's not night anymore. It's dawn."

 

EPILOG

With the intimacy of survivors of a great trauma, the eleven became a unit as diverse as it was odd. 

As a group, they got Peggy through the shakes and agony of the heroin releasing its grip on her wasted body. She raged and snarled and cried like a wild hurricane and everyone was glad that she lacked strength in those days. Bruce turned out to be a huge asset once again as he had some solid medical knowledge and knew some discrete doctors who would look after Peggy's recovery. He fit right in with their strange dynamic, making them an even dozen, drifting in and out of their lives at his own whim. 

Gabe and Ed found a dilapidated old bar they knew they could make something with and it became a good focus for the parts of their whole that had no performance skills. It also left a wide gap between what shady dealings they were forced to partake in and the house in Long Beach. Gloria and Loraine remained at the house with Daniel acting as liaison back and forth. He jeered and nagged Peggy to keep pushing to walk, to strengthen herself past the months of recovery and bed rest while Steve hovered should she falter.

Gloria was happy to be the group's secretary of sorts and continue to butter up the neighbor so that he would mostly ignore the random hours the crazy people next door kept. Loraine was quiet and fierce, plagued by nightmares of her being forced to set the old gas lines of The Stork aflame to save her from being taken over by the Stark war that had torn their lives apart. Strangely, Edwin's presence brought her comfort and they became their own, odd unit. No one asked nor particularly cared what the details were. They procured a tiny, failing studio for a song and worked towards getting a little slice of the Hollywood pie. Sam remained as he had always been, a source of deep strength to his fellows, and a solid talent they relied on both at the house and the studio. 

It was Sam that corralled a conflicted Steve one gloriously sunny and warm fall day before winter truly set in. "Come on, Big Guy," the smaller man laughed and coaxed. "The ladies will be fine for an afternoon. Let's go play in the water for awhile, huh?"

Steve had fallen in love with the Pacific Ocean with an intensity that surprised him. It's great waves and milder temperatures and gentler storms than the Atlantic that had always been close, soothed that broken something in him.

"Can I bring my drawing pad?" he asked just like a hopeful little boy and Sam laughed big and warm.

"Of course you can! And bring a long-sleeved shirt this time so you don't get so sunburned."

Grinning, Steve scampered off to get his things, Peggy and Angie fondly watching him. With sweet kisses, they sent him off to play with his best pal and the house fell into a startling quiet with only the two of them there for the day. It was a perfect setting and Angie set aside her notes and sheets of music to carefully straddle Peggy's still weak legs. Filled with that same sense of deep, calm assuredness that had let her tame Steve so long ago, she stared into the calm, questioning brown eyes of the woman who had changed her life so.

"Come to bed."

It was not a question, but an offer given freely. Neither of them paid any mind to the awkward, shuffling pace, the crutches so much a part of Peggy's life now. They were consumed by promises long denied them, consummated in the big bed in the big house and serenaded by the big sea. It was passion and love and patience and a reward long denied them. Sweating and shaking with Peggy's hands and mouth on and in her, Angie found her laugh again at last, cracking and thawing the last of the ice she'd cocooned herself in.

Then she wept until she was sore and hiccupping, cradled close to the woman she was bonded to forever now.

"I saw greatness in you from the start," Peggy murmured quietly while she stroked Angie's skin at the string of pearls at her throat. "Even if I didn't have the faintest clue exactly how amazing you would turn out to be. Your lucky kisses turned out to be real magic."

Angie giggled wetly and settled into more comfortable abandon against Peggy, enjoying the thrill of their nakedness blending together. In echo of the caress, she touched the trio of pearls on their whisper-fine silver chain that now lay around Peggy's neck. Just as she had done with Steve all those months ago, Angie had taken three of her own pearls to gift them to Peggy. Mere expensive tokens they might be, but to the trio they were as solemn as any wedding band.

"You gave me that window to greatness," Angie murmured into Peggy's skin. "And turned out to be pretty great yourself. Love you."

"Love you too, darling."

Together they were revelation and inevitably, a bond that had seen them through unspeakable hardships and would continue to do so.

For as much forever as they had.


End file.
